
Class ?$/3 9 g 
Book , H^^ 



\ 



iTt 



X 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



JOHN SNOWDEN HOPKINS, 

CONTAINING 

ALBERTO, j DELASCUS, 

AN EPIC poem; ! A DRAMATIC POEMJ 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



BALTIMORE: 

WOODS & CRANE, PRINTERS. 

1842. 



-^s*^*^** 

.H'^^ 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1S42, by 

JOHN SNOWDEN HOPKINS, 

in the Clerk's office of the District Court of Maryland. 



/<!>^yH 



CONTENTS 



PAGE. 

Alberto — Canto 1, 5 

"2, • .... 25 

"3, 53 

"4, 91 

« 5, 122 

Delascus, . 145 

Miscellaneous Poems. 

Stanzas, 205 

Lines To 206 

Elegy, 209 

Farewell, 212 

Stanzas, 213 

To H. a. H s 214 



ALBERTO. 

AN EPIC POEM. 



CANTO I. 

"Seem they grave or learned ? 
Why, so didst thou— seem they religious ? 
Why, so didst thou ; or are they spare in diet, 
Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger, 
Constant in spirit, not swerving vpith the blood, 
Gamish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, 
Not working with the eye without the ear, 
And but with purged judgment trusting neither ? 
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem. 

Shakspeare. 

I. 
America ! "my own, my native land ! " 

The birth-place of Alberto as of me,— 
The soil that holds its fathers' ashes, and 

The champions of her cause and liberty ; 
Great in her greatness— girded with the band 

Of freedom, forged in her sons' unity — 
The proud heirs of freedom, the heritage 
Bequeathed by patriot- father and by sage. 



6 H O P K 1 N s ' w o R K s . [Canto I. 

II. 

America ! if I, a son of thee, should 

In too boastful tone thy own greatness sing. 

And pamt thy beauties in a selfish mood. 
It is the feehng which from thee doth spring, 

The feeling which I'd lose not if I could. 
But have it still around my spirit cling. 

Blend with my being and existence — and 

Bind me closer with thee, my native land. 



What though a wayward wight Alberto be — 
His heritage is freedom — and his home 

The land where lives the spirit of liberty ; 
The passion and the will he had to roam. 

And the dark waters of the bounding sea 

In their own might and beauty round him foam ; 

He hath departed — and in distance dies 

The land that first did greet his infant eves. 



The bark that bears him from each native scene. 
But not from fancy's eye doth distance hide 

His home and country — but are smiling seen 
Through mem'ry's cell to open far and wide. 

Bringing hack feelings time may never wean. 
But live within the heart and chainless mind. 
Close with the very web of fife entwined. 



Canto I.] ALBERTO. 

V, 

Around him heave the waters of the deep, 
And on the vessel speeds her foaming way ; 

The moon in heaven seem her watch to keep. 
And sheds on Ocean's bosom many a ray. 

The waters in their strength and pride doth leap, 
Ev'n as the reinless wild steed on his way. 

Or proud eagle in his heaven-ward flight. 

The heir of freedom, courage and of might. 



But he left not his home without a sigh. 

For there was much had claim on his young heart. 

And even to dim with tears his dark eye ; 
When thus he from his country did depart. 

He struggled with a feeling which doth try, 
A feeling we contend with, when apart 

We live from what we love — and feel, and deem 

That all we love and left, we'll not redeem. 



But, adieu, — and perchance a last adieu — 
For life's a taper of so weak a flame, 

A breath may puflf out — and the waters blue 
May be his sepulchre — yet man for fame 

Will hazard all things, and all things subdue 
To crown his own ambition with a name ; 

And if such be the hero of my lay. 

It may be 'warded to him in his day. 



8 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto I. 

VIII. 

He had been happy on the rolling deep. 

Beneath his native, or a foreign sun. 
Could he have in oblivion learned to steep 

The recollection, the memory dear of one — 
Of one who for him wept, and still may weep ; 

And these memories were of youth — and none 
There are so deep and dear — and none that bring 
The past so full — so bright — to which we cling. 



And night reigns — reigns, but not in darkness — light 
And beauteous hang the heavens o'er the sea — 

And the fired* waters bounding in their might 
Are not in darkness veiled — on them stream the 

Moonbeams all soft, and beautiful and bright. 
Wherein as in all, is imaged Deity. 

Upon his harp Alberto flung his hand. 

And sang adieu to home and native land. 

1. 

"Land of my birth, farewell — 

Perchance farewell forever ; 
Round my bark the waters swell. 

And fast the light winds gather, 

* This phenomenon is visible under different circumstances ; I 
have seen it in both clear and cloudy weather. 



Cantol.] ALBERTO. 

2. 

"Friends of my soul, adieu, 
I may not meet ye more, 
A long farewell to you. 
And to my native shore. 

3. 

"On, on before the wind 
Glides swift my bark away. 

And no light is left behind 
The long departed day. 

4. 

"Night hath drawn her veil around 
The waters of the deep. 

That send forth the stunning sound 
As they convulsive leap. 

5. 

"Not wilder heave the waters. 
Than doth my bosom heave — 

And at memory falters. 
Yet, yet I cannot grieve. 

6. 

"No tear shall dim my eye. 

Though commotion fill my breast- 

And the struggling sigh. 
Shall be forever suppressed. 

2^" 



10 H0PKINS3 WORKS. [Canto I. 

7. 

"Though gloom is on my brow. 

And sorrowful my heart. 
To grief I will not bow. 

Though all save life depart." 

X. 

Thus to his land he poured his sad farewell. 
Albeit in humble and in untaught strain — 

And on the ocean breeze it softly fell ; 

But his lyre and heart were changed — in vain 

He strove to wake the strain he loved too well. 
The melody of heart, ere Wight, or pain 

Had damped its fire, and crushed the very tone 

Which was the voice of its feelings deep alone. 

XI. 

Of hope and love alone these feelings were. 

The heart their Eden, their home and birth-place. 

Colouring existence with a hue so fair 

And bright, and beautiful, that earth's dim face 

Seemed but heaven's own loveliness to wear. 
Which time nor fate might dim not, nor efface ; 

And they were breathed unto their idols, who 

Lent them half the breath of being they drew ; 



Canto I.J ALBERTO. 11 



But 'twas to poison — 'twas to know and feel 
Such holy feelings canker from their birth. 

For they within tliemselves a tone conceal 
That finds no answering harmony on earth. 

And turns upon themselves when once the seal 
Is broke that bound them, and they find a dearth 

In things that were their idols and their shrine, 

Which their own holiness had made divine. 

XIII. 

His mind in its impassioned moments threw. 
An ideal world around him, like the dream 

Of inspiration, where each vision's hue 

And form was that of beauty, such as we deem 

Not of on earth, nor in its brightness knew. 
Nor may be known by such as him, who seem 

With beauty all to blend — in beauty but enshrined 

The bright and pure creations of the mind. 

XIV. 

Things in creation lend the mind their hue. 
And give the heart a deep voice and a tone 

(Which time nor pain may crush not, nor subdue) 
By which to make its own pure feelings known 

In hymning forth in its own voice anew. 

The holiness of things where beauty finds a throne. 

And where divinity is blended bright in all. 

And on the heart to hymn their beauty call. 



12 Hopkins' WORKS. [Canto I. 



But he hath departed — and days have fled — 
The green coast of his native land is gone ; 

Ten days the vessel on her way had sped. 
But the next was ominous — around the sun 

A dim and ruddy circle threat'ning spread. 
And the whole heavens shifted to a dun ; 

The winds arose^ and whistled '^mong the shrouds. 

And soon the sun was girdled Avith black clouds. 

XVI. 

The rough winds and the clouds all passed away 
As morning dawned — and beautiful and bright 

The red sun peered high o'er the wat'ry way. 
And o'er each face came flashes of delight : 

Far o'er the waters glowed the sinking day. 
And crimsoned ocean over with its light ; 

The mighty deep was with the red sky zoned 

And God and beauty was in all enthroned. 



The sun went down behind the waters blue. 
Pillowed on clouds of purple and of gold. 

Tinting all heaven soft with matchless hue. 
Shedding a lustre o'er the ocean bold. 

And beautiful and grand : and then the new 
Moon rose from ocean, lovely to behold : 

Star after star sprang in the golden height. 

And gave new beauty to the face of night. 



Canto I.J ALBERTO. 13 

XVIII. 

The heavens were changed — storm and darkness came ; 

The winds swept o'er the waters with a moan. 
And the rent cloud sent forth its flash and flame 

That blazed and hissed upon the waters, thrown 
Like the storm-cloud by the winds, and which claim 

And hold a magic might as on self-borne 
They drive with fearful force the storm, and clash 

With the swift cloud and the lightning's flash. 

XIX. 

And wilder yet the tempest raged on high ; 

And of its strength the growing storm seemed proud. 
As on it rolled in blackness through the sky ; 

And hoarse and harsh the thunder pealed, and loud. 
And the lashed ocean vengeful made reply. 

Blended and clashed as with the cloud — the shroud 
Was shivered as a ribbon, fluttered and streamed 
O'er the ocean, on which the lightning gleamed. 

XX. 

Yet louder pealed the thunder through the sky. 
And yet, still keener grew the lightning's flash. 

And darkness reigned, robed in its deepest dye ; 
Then with a sudden, sharp and whizzing crash 

The lightning rent the mainmast — and the cry 
Of "fire," ran from one to one — then to dash 

Themselves into the deep, themselves to save, 

Some shrieking did, and sunk beneath the wave. 



14 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto I. 



Their only hope of life was on some sail 
That might by chance fall into their way — 

And each one watched^ and watched with visage pale 
And anxious eye for one, from day to day : 

And when the shade of eve the sky would veil. 
And in the west expired the sun's last ray. 

And darkness came, each one seemed delirious. 

Because their state grew much more perilous. 



The fourth day past away — no sail was seen — 
And the sixth — but none met the watchful eye. 

All dim and weary of the watery scene ; 
And when the seventh sun forsook the sky. 

And no token of their rescue had been 

Held out to them, their hopes began to die. 

And you might see the horror of the soul 

As from each wild and glassy eye it stole. 



When the first fit of hunger did subside 

It was succeeded by a stupid sleep. 
And pain in them a moment, seemed to have died ; 

So gently did this stupor on them creep. 
You at a glance had deemed the active tide 

Of life had ebbed in all, so sound and deep 
And death-like was their rest ; and when 'twas o'er. 
Some ranted, raved, and yelled, and cursed and swore. 



Canto I.] ALBERTO. 15 

XXIV. 

The tenth day came with scenes more shocking still ; 

Hunger's most hideous form 'gan to appear ; 
The maniac laugh was heard — clear and shrill 

It floated on the ocean breeze — the tear 
Of deep anguish ran like the mount's clear rill, 

Down the tar's rough cheek, and in a tone severe 
He railed against his fate, then silent sit. 
Till seized again with hunger's mad'ning fit. 

XXV. 

A father o'er his daughter fondly hung 

And wildly on her gazed — but did not speak ; 

Lovely she was, and delicate and young. 
Yet bore her bitter fate heavenly meek ; 

And oft with delirious fervour to him clung 
And pressed her fiery lip and bloodless cheek 

To his, as fond woman ever will to those 

They love, when loaded down with pain and woes. 

XXVI. 

She strove to pluck the sting from out his heart 
By cheering word commingled with each smile ; 

And thus her aid, far as she could impart. 
Imparted — which a moment did beguile : 

Though she essayed with gentlest word and art 
To bear him up against their ills the whde. 

Still feeble were her efforts then and there. 

For hunger raged, and madness and despair. 



16 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto I. 



Not long they clung and on each other gazed — 
For death shut up her view and broke her hold ; 

The sinking clay he to his bosom raised. 

And round it long his arms themselves did fold ; 

Nor did he raise his eyes, all dim and glazed. 
From off the corpse, till it was stiff and cold ; 

And when 'twas given to the whirling tide. 

He uttered one pathetic prayer, and died. 



Another father still there was, who bent 
O'er his expiring daughter to the last ; 

But fruitless was the succour that he lent — 
Despite of all, the spirit forever passed 

Calm and gentle as the day-god e'er went 
Down the eternal blue — on it he cast 

A look of bitter anguish, as 'twas borne 

Off by the gulfing wave in which 'twas thrown. 



They had been wafted by a gentle gale. 

Until the close of the eleventh day. 
When not a breath once filled the flagging sail. 

And on the stagnant ocean still they lay ; 
The best oars then had been of no avail. 

Because their strength was gone — and reason's ray 
But faint and feebly flashed at intervals, 
And filled them with the thouijhts of cannibals. 



Canto I.] ALBERTO. 17 

XXX. 

And one — an aged, and hardy seaman, who 
Had once been forced upon his kind to feed. 

And battled oft with storms in his time too. 
With but little ceremony did proceed 

To suggest to the balance of the crew. 

That one at least, must for his fellows bleed, 

When, ''land," by different voices was proclaimed — 

But, alas ! they had a bank of fog misnamed. 

XXXI. 

The sun was scorching on the breathless sea. 
And not a cloud there was to break his ray. 

Save now and then a lone one you might see 
Skirting the western sky at close of day ; 

With moon and stars the heavens glowed — and the 
Mirrored, the glassed and slumbering ocean lay 

Even as a thing all powerless, and serene. 

Wrapped in the fadeless lustre of night's queen. 

XXXII. 

One female more there was among this crew. 
Whose father had expired the day before ; 

'Twas strange she had so long survived those who. 
Seemingly a hardier aspect wore ; 

Even as a flower she was unto the view. 
Yet, she the mad'ning pangs of hunger bore. 

With fortitude and patience, so uncommon. 

None scarce had deemed her in that morapnt human 



18 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto I. 

XXXIII. 

O'er her fair face there was a calmness thrown. 
Soft as day ling'ring in yon azure height. 

Or at its eastern base at hour of morn. 
Day gently rising from the arms of night ; 

And, when on the ear broke her voice's tone. 
So soft, so sweet, and soothing, that, (it might 

Have been fancy, j I could not then but deem 

It was an angel whispering its sweet dream. 



On Alberto's arm she lay, and there expired ; 

The sun ne'er streaked with day yon arch of blue. 
Nor from the west his lingering light retired 

More calm and gentle than the soul withdrew 
From its clay shrine which it with life inspired ; 

And when 'twas done — on it one look he threw. 
But saw no sign that death the clay encumbered. 
So much it looked like one that only slumbered. 



The light was gone that lighted late the mould 
That lay there — a dull lump — a lifeless thing — 

Gone ! but where gone, he asked — can nought unfold ! 
Can none, none still from death one sentence wring — 

One faint answer ! but still, still naught was told — 
And left him as all are left, still wondering : 

Much men hath writ — as much perchance have thought. 

But I am silent, since death may be naught. 



Canto I.] ALBERTO. 19 

XXXVI. 

Still on the pallid lump his eye he kept. 
Nor could he in that moment from it turn. 

Deeming he only looked on one that slept. 
That would to life and action soon return — 

But over the clay no sign of being crept. 

For life's brief lamp in her had ceased to burn ; 

She in the deep too like the rest was cast. 

And from his vision then, forever passed. 



Another maiden still there was alive. 
With all the mildness of a "summer's morn," 

Whom her lover did till that hour contrive 
To keep the spirit still within its urn ; 

In vain to ward death's blow off, did he strive — 
She died — and he too followed in his turn ; 

Death did not rob their features of their charms. 

They looked asleep, locked in each others arms. 

XXXVIII. 

Thus far they had evaded death by fire. 
Who by water, or hunger certain seemed — 

Yet they still hoped — and stronger grew desire 
As they were from each peril past redeemed — 

And as hope will, it did these men inspire. 
And in the features of each one it beamed ; 

Oh, Hope ! Oh, goddess ! most adorable. 

Unless you prove, as oft, inexorable. 



20 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto I, 

XXXIX, 

At length about the hour of noon, arose 
A cliff in view, according to their eyes. 

O'er which hunger a dimness ever throws, 
And left them of the coast in sad surmise. 

So indistinct did it itself disclose — 

But as they gazed, more clear 'twas seen to rise. 

Until 'twas brought within the vision's reach. 

And proved to be a high and sandy beach. 



The number of souls was now reduced to four. 
The rest all died off one by one, but these. 

Who scarce was able now to dip an oar. 
But gave themselves up to the rising breeze, 

To waft them, as they hoped, alive to shore, 

Which some still doubted — nor as yet could ease 

Their minds of fear, or keep from shedding tears. 

The bitter offspring of their hopes and fears. 



Oh, Hope ! Oh, Fear — and Faith ! mighty indeed 
Are ye ! ye can the mightiest mind subdue. 

And then repays with pain — your only meed, — 
Except the latter, and may it be true. 

Since 'lis the christian's all confiding creed. 
And will sustain — and gives assurance too 

Of life beyond the grave — a good omen. 

Just such, perhaps, as land was to these men. 



Canto I.] ALBERTO. 21 



The winds increased, as went the red sun down 
Behind the high cliffs, in his bed of gold. 

Curtained with clouds of purple, grey or brown. 
While on the rough and reckless sea they rolled. 

With scarce a hope. Fortune would cease to frown 
Upon them more— their strained eyes sadly told 

That they were drifting from the nodding coast. 

To be perchance in the next moment lost. 



They saw upon the ocean's conic breast 

A sail — steering toward them, as they thought. 

And all with kindling hope again was blessed. 

Till they saw her tacking — which she did in short. 

And hope again forsook each throbbing breast. 
And on each brow a wild despair was wrought 

When they saw her bearing off from them, erect. 

And watched, and watched, till she became a speck. 



Alberto looked upon the three that lay 

There motionless — and calling them, he found 

Their spirits one by one, had past away ; 

What was he ! a thing one element bound — 

Yet, a nobler never was formed of clay! 

His present state did then somewhat confound. 

Because he could not tell the reason why. 

He did not also like his fellows die. 

3# 



22 HOPKiNs'woRKS. [Canto I. 



His brain grew dizzy — and spun round and round - 
Nor knew he ought until the morning broke. 

When stretched by these icy bodies he found 
Himself, scarce conscious he had awoke 

From the death-hke stupor that had bound 
Him — and he could feel the torturing stroke 

Of death in every quiv'ring, throbbing vein. 

As reason flashed alternate on his brain. 



And there he floated alone ('till break of day) 

Except the three that there in death was bound ; 
He would have cast them, like the rest away, 

Had he been able — and had he not found 
That they indeed, were useful in their way. 

Serving much to trim the boat. He unwound 
The kerchiefs from their necks to sound, (for want 

Of better) and found twelve feet water, scant. 



And there he lay, far off the rugged beach. 
Helpless, faint, and quiv'ring in ev'ry nerve ; 

Oh, Fate ! what sad, sad lessons dost thou teach ? 
What sad fortunes dost thou to mortals serve 

Out. On his knee he rose, hopeful to reach 
The smiling forest, which, bound with its curve 

Of green, the blue eternal sea, whereon. 

He still in hunger's wildest rage was borne. 



Canto I.] ALBERTO, 23 

XLA^III. 

The bright sun ushered in another day. 

And yet Alberto was not wholly lost — 
And while he fainting and expiring lay. 

He was espied by some from off the coast. 
Who kept the flutt'ring spirit in the clay. 

For they their perilous way to him had forced. 
And with their hands his stiffened limbs did chafe. 
Then o'er the waves to land they bore him safe. 



They bore him to their home, and soon recalled 

An animation to each stiffened limb, 
(Which a moment more, death would have enthralled) 

By bathing his temples, and by chafing him 
With their hands — still life in him sadly palled. 

For still each pulse and sense as yet was dim ; 
They gave him food, and watched him as he lay. 
Because they deemed him of superior clay. 



And there they watched him with impatient eyes. 

Impatient as though he had been their child ; 
When in his cheek they saw the colour rise 
And lustre to his eye return, they smiled. 
And tried (so true charity ever tries) 

To sooth with gentle look, and language mild- 
Scarce knew he in that moment, aught, except 
By turns, that death upon his faint limbs crept. 



24 HOPKINS' WORKS. LCanto I. 



Life was springing in his dull limbs again. 
But he as yet was helpless, faint and weak. 

And felt life's heavy burthen and its pain ; 

The ruddy tint would leave his youthful cheek. 

And in his forehead shrunk each purple vein. 
As though life only filled them in a freak 

To cheat his watchers, as he lay there hushed 

With chalky visage now, and now with flushed. 



END OF CANTO ONE. 



CANTO II 



It were all one; 
That I should love a bright peculiar star, 
And think to wed it ; she is so much above me : 
In her bright radiance and collateral heat 
Must I be comforted, not in her sphere. 

Shakspeare. 



And when he sunk to slumber, his repose 
An aspect wore resembling that death wears. 

Nor sign of life, save breathing, did disclose. 

Albeit they pressed his brow, and hand in theirs, 

And would have woke him from his death-like doze. 
Had they not deemed, and knew that sleep repairs. 

Or buries for the time our mortal woes — 

So they broke not his long and deep repose. 

II. 

And there he lay, and soft and sweetly slept. 
Until a dark dream broke his blessed repose. 

And back on him his woes again all crept ; 

The crumbling, worn, and wasted forms of those 

That had been (and perhaps untimely) swept 
Away, in the vision of that dream arose ; 

The cry of hunger, and the dying groan 

Back to his fretted ear again was borne. 



26 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto II. 



He saw in the vision of that slumber 
His fellow pilgrims of the trackless sea 

Thrusted by fate's resistless arm like lumber 
Into the flames, and yelling franticly — 

And felt the icy hand of death encumber 

His young, but feeble limbs — and on the three 

That were the last to die, he gave one look. 

And then, despairing, to the waters took. 



Long o'er his mind did this vision reign. 
Steeping his soul gigain in pangs and woes. 

And on his temples, thick and fast like rain. 
The cold and clammy drops of torture rose. 

And his faint limbs quivered as with the pain 
And agony of one in his last throes ; 

Then he awoke, all trembling, pale and weak. 

With startled visage, and with ashy cheek. 



And there was one, a female young and fair. 
Who heard of this worn and sea-beaten boy. 

And to recall his spirits, gave her care. 
Her every tender care, she did employ ; 

And as she bent o'er him (her shining hair 
Half hid her face, beaming with smiles of joy) 

He deemed her but the vision of a dream. 

So pure, and brilliant did her beauty seem. 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 27 



Lovelier did she look to him each morn, 

Which brought his health and spirits back again, 

And his wan cheek, by long, long suffering worn 
'Gan to reclaim its former healthful stain — 

And ere long, back to him again was borne. 

What famine had robbed him of upon the main ; 

And she who 'tended, smiled, when she could trace, 

Returning lustre, to his youthful face. 



And when he had recovered sufficiently. 

Took him to what had been her sire's mansion, 

A splendid building (which o'er looked the sea) 
Of very rich interior, and expansion. 

And finished, as you may deem, quite handsomely. 
That is to say, according to the fashion 

And the custom of the isle, whereon it stood. 

Which was as he understood. 



It overlooked the bright and rosy ocean. 
Rosy and bright as was the sky at even. 

When the sun paused on his golden cushion. 
And lending ocean all the hue of heaven. 

Reared on a green mound of some dimension. 
By which a very great effect was given. 

And ornamental trees of every sort. 

Made it a very charming place, in short. 



28 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto II. 



Sure as mom, blushing, lit the courts on high. 

This maiden to Aberto would repair. 
And on him bent her soft and radiant eye. 

In which there was a language deep, and rare, 
And from Alberto's seemed to crave reply. 

As if alone, alone in his there were 
That answering harmony of soul, shown 
Through the medium of the eye alone. 



Her hair was a pure jet, and diamond bright. 
Her eye also, of a contending hue. 

And of mild expression — mild as the light 
That Hesper round herself at morn e'er drew. 

And sparkling as the stars of summer's night. 
With all the liquid lustre of the aew 

Drop, glittering on the opening rose. 

When morn her radiance on creation throws. 



Her figure was of an enchanting size. 
According to Alberto's mode of thinking. 

And if I said it rose before your eyes 
With all the softness of a vapour, eking 

Itself to a bow in the liquid skies. 
Seeming as though it was from you shrinking. 

You'd still be left to wonder and surmise — 

The artist in such case alone supplies. 



Canto IL] ALBERTO. 29 

XII. 

Lovingly and low she would o'er him bend. 
As though he was her source of existence. 

The being with whom she alone could blend 
Her ev'ry wish and hope — all, all from whence 

Spring all, that, to bless fair woman can tend ; 
And thus it was with her — heart, soul, brain, sense. 

Were the ready ministers of her love. 

For these, all these, to love alone can move. 



Her love was of the soul — deep and sincere, 
Though 'twas the mere offspring of a moment ; 

And such is dangerous, and also rare ; 

Yet doubtless, 'twas by heaven expressly meant 

To kindle but in such as this young pair. 
Being of its own quick'ning element ; 

I've knew it kindle at a single glance. 

Especially in those who meet by chance. • 



Woman's cheek I have seen of purer dye. 

But ne'er a form that could with her's compare. 

Nor one that e'er could boast an equal eye, 
(Albeit, a pretty one 's by no means rare) 

Nor features chisseied to such harmony. 
Nor one in short, with such brilliant hair. 

Which o'er her chalky shoulders sparkling rolled 

Like clustering threads of refined gold. 
4 



30 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto II. 

XV. 

Like stars of morn forsaking each their place. 
Her kindred, one by one from earth had passed. 

And left her the lone rehc of their race — 
And lone as a lone cloud in yon vast. 

Eternal, beauteous, and all boundless space. 
This maid was left — of all her stock the last ; 

Of them she oft would speak with tearful eye. 

And oft had wished she like them too, could die. 



She Avas sole heiress to her sire's estate. 

Which embraced this very spacious building ; 

And many others that I could narrate — 
But none of them could equal it in gilding. 

Stucco, and other ornaments of great 

Taste and beauty — at least, they were styled in 

That isle — extremely rich and rare — just such 

As are seen reared by Spanish and by Dutch. 

XVII. 

Along the sea-coast at the hour of eve, 

Alberto Avandered pensive and alone. 
And save the sea-bird's scream, (that there do cleave 

With sluggish Aving the air) a calm was thrown 
O'er all so soft, all seemed to feel and breathe 

Of nature's beauty — beauty all her own ; 
And then Alberto tuned his harp the while. 
To ocean, earth, and heaven, and the isle. 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 31 

XVIII. 

Gem of the ocean, hail ! that mystic rise 
From out the bosom of her waters deep. 

Canopied with all bright and azure skies, 
That o'er thee all tranquilly doth sleep. 

Wherein the moon all solitary flies. 
And Hke a guardian seems her watch to keep 

O'er thee, queen of the trackless ocean, bright. 

And crowns thee with her ever silver light. 

XIX. 

And, wliile thus on thee I stand, thou sweet isle — 
Thou heritage of beauty and its dower. 

Far o'er the waste of waters seem to smile 
The land, ''my native land," where freedom's tower 

Stands in its might and majesty the while. 
And blends with its genius and its power ; 

And this — this is ''my own, my native land," 

On whose proud soil again I may not stand. 

XX. 

Yes ! while thus on thee I stand, thou sweet isle — 
Thou queen, who's crown is sunset's glow of gold. 

Who in the purple pride of eve doth smile. 
Fancy my country and my home unfold. 

As through memory's mirror and her isle 
I gaze — for mem'ry still doth fondly hold 

My country in its urn — in it is shrined. 

And lives all fadeless in Alberto's mind. 



32 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto II. 

XXI. 

And what beauty wraps the scene — far away 
The restless waters of the ocean spread. 

Where faintly lingers still the hght of day 
That blends as with the moonlight, sweetly shed. 

And sparkhng on the slumbering ocean lay. 
The tomb and sepulchre of countless dead. 

Where now the sun's last faint, expiring rays. 

Kindles on its wide bosom with a blaze. 

XXII. 

Alberto slumbered on the coast, and dreamed 

Of loving, and being beloved by one, 
A female young and lovely, as she seemed. 

Nor on earth a kindred had — and to none 
Would turn save him alone, as then he deemed ; 

And though their love had light'ning quick begun. 
It was as their very breath and being, — 
And long to such the human heart will cling. 



He dreamed of wandering in a wood alone. 
When day was lingering on the verge of night. 

And sunset's glow o'er all was lovely thrown. 
Dyeing creation in its rosy light, 

A female voice broke on his ear, whose tone 
Was as the echo of sweet music — and light 

It wafted through the echoing solitude 

Of that mysterious and dim-lighted wood — 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. c 

XXIV. 

And turning, he beheld a female form reclined 
Beneath an aged tree of wide spread bow ; 

It might be fancy, but there seemed combined 
Both joy and sorrow resting on her brow, 

'Twas sunny now, and now to gloom declined ; 
And then his eye was turned away — but how 

He knew not; then he strove, but could not speak — 

And felt tlie hot tears gushing on his cheek. 

XXV. 

And then before his eye she stood again, 

Encircled as with happiness around. 
And chanting softly then a magic strain — 

For such upon his ear it seemed to sound. 
And thrilled with rapture every pulse and vein ; 

She vanished Irom his vision — and around 
He gazed with swelling heart and throbbing brain. 
To catch a glimj)se of that loved form again. 

XXVJ. 

The vision of his dream changed — she was thrown 
Before him with blanched cheek and tearful eye. 

Pacing with broken step her hall alone. 
And at intervals raving franticly ; 

The wreath of joy from off her brow was torn. 
And left it stamped with grief's unfading dye — 

He gazed a moin(>nt — and a moment more, 

She vanished from his vision, as before, 
4" 



34 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto 11. 



And left all round in solemn stillness hushed. 

As that which reigns within death's dark domain. 

Whde there he stood — and felt his heart was crushed ; 
As with his hand, away from off his brain 

The fiery torture of its weight he brushed ; 

And long with stiffened limb and pulseless vein 

He deemed he stood upon the death-like spot. 

And struggled oft to leave it, but could not. 



Again to him, in tears the maid was brought. 
But not upon the spot where late they stood. 

But where the mighty hand of Time had wrought 
His desolating changes — apart from wood. 

Or stream, or mount, or prospect fair, or aught. 
Crumbling and tarnished spires, which strewed 

Their fragments round, the wandering eye e'er caught. 

The ruins of an ancient city, in short. 



It was the hour when day's lingering streak 
O'er spreads with crimson half the glowing sky 

And when all nature finds a tongue to speak 
As with the echo of her own melody. 

The maid before him stood with pallid cheek. 
And tears of sorrow dimming her dark eye, 

The eye that beamed with radiance late on all. 

But now from Mdiich the drops of torture fall. 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 35 

XXX. 

It was, I say, the hour when eve had thrown 
Her crimson mantle o'er the glowing west. 

When dim and faint as yet the full moon shone. 
And with a hallowed softness seemed to rest 

On bruised and shattered wall and crumbling stone. 
That once had been a nation's boast and crest, 

'Mid which they stood in silence and alone. 

And with her tear-bedimmed eye on him thrown. 



And gazing thus, spoke not, save with her eyes 
All that she felt while she stood gazing there. 

Which is the stamp of feelings deep — the guise 
Which the most intense sense doth ever wear 

Of that all mystic sympathy, which ties 

Soul to soul ; and for such deep feeling, there 

Is no tongue or language, the eye alone 

Can make such love, or such deep feelings known. 

XXXII. 

Unto her features were recalled again 

The radiant aspect they were wont to wear. 

Albeit, heaved her bosom as with pain. 
And in her dark eye lingered still a tear — 

And like the lily o'er charged with rain. 

When the bright sun would sudden on it glare. 

She smiling through the mist of tears then seemed, 

For she from tears as yet was not redeemed. 



36 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto II. 

XXXIII. 

Anon the tear was dried in her dark eye. 
Which on him then all eloquent was sealed 

With that deep sense of soul which in such lie. 
Nor e'er can be, save by the eye revealed — 

And gazing on him, smiled soft as the sky 
That o'er hung them, from cloud all unconcealed. 

And glowing with the hallowed light of eve. 

Or when of earth the sun would take his leave. 



And standing there in evening's purple pride. 
An hour to poets and to lovers dear. 

With maiden modesty she strove to hide 

The feelings which in that moment seemed her 

Tender frame to shake — as though in their tide 
Were mingled some sad boding, dark and drear- 

And while withal, seemed struggling to impart 

Their fearful influence to Alberto's heart. 



Again his vision changed — and with her he 
Stood within an ancient palace — where art 

Had done her utmost to adorn — where the 
Busts of heroes and of bards were ranged apart 

In niches, stamped as with vitality, 
Stirring each sense of the mute gazer's heart : 

In the centre a female statue caught 

The wandering eye, of virgin marble wrought. 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 37 



Thus as they stood in silence side by side. 

With kindling soul and cheek to crimson flushed. 

She as by magic from him sprang — and cried, 

"'Away — haste — fly — fly — oh! my heart is crushed ?" 

In vain to do her bidding then he tried ; 
A moment more, and in a figure rushed 

As in a fit of rage and anger — who. 

On them a moment gazed, and then withdrew. 



Then on his eye again her light form died — 
But how, he knew not — then again they stood 

Where late they stood — and where the low winds sighed 
'Mong tottering dome and spire, apart from Avood, 

Or grove, or lawn, or mount, or murmuring tide. 
Or aught save piles of ruins high and rude. 

That once in beauty and in order stood. 

Now crushed and crumbled by Time's mighty flood. 

XXXVIII. 

And there they stood among these ruins vast. 

Wrapped in the stole of their own thoughts, he deem'd; 

And night her shroud had o'er creation cast — 

But darkness reigned not — bright and lovely gleamed 

The moon on all, as when they stood there last ; 
Each in that moment striving, as it seemed. 

To give utterance to their thoughts in word. 

But not a breath from either, either heard, 



38 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto II. 

XXXIX, 

A murm'ring sound then broke upon the ear — 
The low ripphng of a fountain, which stood 

Full in the centre of a castle ; and near. 

Was a huge sabre, crimsoned still with blood. 

Lying 'cross a half wasted carcass there — 

Beyond, a crown of structure strange and rude. 

Gemmed with a single diamond alone. 

That like a single star in heaven shone. 



Beyond an aged and tattered helmet lay — 

A huge shield, and cankered breastplate, pierced thro' 

A griffin wrought of marble, but in decay — 
Also a marble statue, broke in two — 

The pride perchance of millions in its day. 
And oil the eye of veneration drew— 

And proudly held, if but a thing to tell. 

There art and genius once were known to dwell. 



Amid the ruins long they stood, and gazed 

Upon the wreck of splendour, pomp and pride. 

Once by a nation honoured, loved and praised — 
Who like their relics, swept down the gulfing tide 

Of time, to death and to decay : amazed. 
He heard a murmuring voice as by his side 

Exclaimed, "a single voice alone erased. 

What ten centuries hath not yet replaced." 



Canto II ] ALBERTO. 39 

XLII. 

Beyond still stood a tottering monument, 

Defaced and crumbling by Time's ruthless hand. 

Crowned with a female statue, with eye bent 
On heaven: 'round her head a golden band 

Was placed, sparkling with jewels, and which lent 
Their lustre to the moon's, that soft and bland 

Beamed on what once a kingdom's queen was styled. 

But now by time and tyranny defiled. 

XLTIl. 

They from this scene were borne away alone 
Unto an ancient, spacious palace — where 

Art and wealth around in twin-lustre shone — 
And with fixed eye upon her then and there 

He marked the light of joy her brow had flown. 
And on it sate a dark and deep despair ; 

Her voice had dwindled to a stifled tone. 

And felt her hand then tremble in his own. 



Could the marble fresh from the sculptor's hand 
Proclaim that sense of soul the tongue deny. 

It then might justly of itself demand 
A simile of her ; in her dark eye 

There was that deep, inward, intense sense (and 
Which did her brow in starthng hue then dye) 

That ne'er can be by human tongue expressed. 

But live concealed fore'er within the breast. 



40 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto H. 

XLV. 

A moment stood she thus — a moment more 

She shrieked, and sunk all senseless on his arm. 

Her features then a ghastly aspect wore. 
That late was gemmed with beauty's very charm ; 

Then from his arm she sprang — and rent and tore 
Her hair, like some wild victim of alarm. 

Then from her burst the startling laugh — and then 

She hoarsely screara'd, '''list — behold — itcomes!'' when 



A tall and pallid figure met his eye 

At the extreme end of the dim-lit hall ; 
A walking Death it seemed — and then so high. 
It seemed to stoop the while to shun the wall- 
Habited in grave clothes — and the black dye 
Of death its hue seemed to the eye withal ; 
Erect it stood, with ponderous staff in hand. 
And brow encircled with a brazen band. 



A dim lamp in the castle's centre hung. 

Whose pale light glimmered on the ghastly form 

That as a statue stood — the maiden's shrieks rung 
Through the castle loud and long — her tears warm 

Gushed on his bosom, and with anguish stung — 
Within his heaving breast the growing storm 

Of commingled passions raged — and the maid 

Dropped from his arm, and dumb and senseless laid,- 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 41 

XL VIII. 

At his feet : low over her form he bent 
With mingled feelings of courage and of fear — 

While like the lily from its stem fresh rent 
She withering lay ; he seized a glit'ring spear 

At the figure to hurl with dire intent. 

Which in that moment seemed approaching near ; 

"Thou canst not harm me,'^ in low tone it said — 

And like a vapour from his vision fled. 



A moment passed — the shade stood there again ! 

"Say what wouldst thou V^ Alberto sternly cried ! 
"'Avaunt ! or by this arm thou art quickly slain ! " 

"I am the Genius of the damned," it sighed — 
'^^And come again to warn thee of the pain 

And bhght of love that will be multiplied 
On thee and thine, if thou wilt not forswear 
Thy love for that fair maiden lying there." 

L. 

"Thinkest thou to baffle me with such speech ! 

Avaunt ! away ! damned as thou art, away!" 
"Hold ! and let the voice of me thine ear reach. 

That thy quick soul may not in anguish pay 
The eternal forfeit of an earthly breach ! 

Let not thy tongue thy soul immortal slay ! 
Beware ! beware! I charge thee now once more !" 
It ceased — and then it vanished as before. 
5 



42 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto II. 

LI. 

He turned, as then he deemed unto the maid. 
With throbbing heart and with shuddering limb : 

Upon her snowy brow his hand he laid. 
And called her name — ^but she heard not him ; 

He rose from off his knee again — a shade 
Or phantom seemed before his eye to skim. 

Then like the morning mist to glide away. 

And a new scene before his vision lay. 



As earth smiles responsive to smile of morn. 
Each smile responded to the smile of each — 

And their quick passion seemed but newly born. 
Nor yet in them matured enough to reach 

The summit of its joy ; their griefs were gone 
If such remembrance could the glad heart teach 

When late it darkling sat on either brow. 

Usurper of the joy that is there now. 



Again they in the ancient castle sate. 
Robed as in the happiness of their love — 

Yet oh ! to each their seemed a coming fate 
Soon their cherished happiness to dissolve — 

Doomed, as the dove bereft of its fond mate. 
The world in bitterness apart to rove. 

Or new-caged songster doomed alas ! to wear 

Out existence in his wiry prison there. 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 43 



"Behold the tint of sunset in the sky, 

BattUng as with the coming shade of night. 

Such whispered Fate shall be my destiny ! 

Strife, and pain, and sorrow the soul shall blight. 

And settle on the brow their deepest dye. 
Even as night usurps the rosy light 

Of sunset in the sky," she whispered low — 

"But, to thee I'll cling through all earthly woe." 

LV. 

"No ! Fate's crushing destiny cannot crush 
The kindled passion of my soul for thee ; 

Until the mighty hand of Time shall brush 
Me from earth's face, my only joy shall be 

In thee, for oh — hark ! list thee — a voice — hush" — 
Before them stood the figure in mockery. 

And defiance of mortal strength or power — 

And with hoarse voice, said "come, it is the hour. 



"It is the hour of parting for ye both — 
Your star is in the quarter, and decrees 

And hath lent me power to bear ye forth 
Unto your destiny, where that shall seize 

Ye, ye ordain — to leave ye shall be loath. 
Because ye knowing did the star displease. 

That held and still holds your destiny — 

Come, I say — ye must hence with me — obey." 



44 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto II. 



The phantom paused when thus it had made speech. 
And with its hand it waved them to depart j 

Alberto rose and raised liis arm to reach 
Down from the dingy wall a brazen dart. 

Wherein with it to make a mortal breach. 
And thus in his defence to do his part. 

But ere he reeked his will upon the shade. 

With hurried step it had its exit made. 



The vision changed : High on a mountain's brow 
That overhung the blue and trackless sea. 

And laved its base with its alternate flow. 
They stood in silence and alone ; and she 

With eye fixed on the rude abyss below. 
While his then only on her rested ; the 

Heaving breakers against the mountain broke. 

And he bewildered in that moment woke. 



The robe of darkness was upon the world. 
And silence reigned save the sea's loud roar — 

Along the coast with stunning sound 'twas hurled. 
Then died in echo off the distant shore. 

A lone cloud 'round the moon in heaven curled. 
Whose soft light mirrored Ocean's bosom o'er 

All bright and beautiful as was the sky. 

That overhung it in stern rivalry. 



Canto II.] 



ALBERTO 



45 



This maid, I said, was of her kin bereft. 
And stood as stands some tender bloom alone. 

Around from which each kindred late was cleft. 
And bade her eye a tear regretful own, 

(For who but weeps when thus all lonely left) 
When they in memory back to her was borne ; 

Ay ! there is a feeling none but such can feel — 

And moments too, that only on such steal. 

LXI. 

In years was young — yet she had known of grief. 
Until, as late, she with Alberto met. 

Who seemed a timely source to her relief — 
And if the mem'ry of the past e'er set 

A gloom or sadness on her brow, 'twas brief. 
Albeit, he was not one with word could whet 

The happiness of those he in grief found. 

Because it oped afresh in him each wound. 



Around her brow a pearly band was placed 
And of rich and rare workmanship withal ; 

A necklace adorned her neck, not less chaste. 
But of mixed hue, and also material. 

Being with coral and diamonds interlaced. 
And claimed much admiration too, from all, 

Worn but to denote her birth and station, 

A common custom stiU among that nation. 

5# 



46 H O P K I N S ' VV O R K s . [Canto II, 

LXIII. 

Her hair, I said, was of a jetty hue. 

Which gracefully in clustering tresses bound 

A forehead alabaster white, which threw 
A shade of beauty on a face not round. 

But moulded after some divinity, who 

For matchless beauty hath long been renowned 

By famous and immortal bards of old. 

In strains enchanting and in numbers bold. 



And then her eye, it was a matchless one. 
Full of stirring glances — and some there are. 

Whose glances through the heart electric run. 
And leave a long remembered sweetness there ; 

Such was the eye Alberto looked upon — 
Its glances had a tone — a wild stirring air. 

Toned in the heart, forsook that heart no more. 

But there vibrated sweetly as before. 

LXV. 

If there is yet in life a treasure left, 

A boon, a gift, of the eternal skies. 
It is to know we ai'e not yet bereft 

Of woman's love — inestimable prize — 
Whose value 's best known when its tie is cleft 

Within the heart — and like some Hower dies 
We cherished long, and loved, and only knew 
From that alone, each sweet of life we drew. 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 47 



And shall I speak of this all priceless gift. 
That lit the soul and kindled in the eye 

Of one who still on life's rough ocean drift. 
And sees the very genius of it die — 

Whose mind, ambition once did proudly lift 
To fame — renown — hope — love, all, all that lie 

Within the vista of the youthful eye. 

One by one, wither, perish, fade and die. 

LXVII. 

But the heart with all its iron power. 

Is often as a frail and tender reed. 
Formed but to break, or perish as a flower 

Mangled by the winds in their reckless speed. 
Scathed by the lightning in its freshest hour. 

Or by some reckless foot, crushed as a weed — 
So with the heart all passion — all desire — 
Scathed by its very lightning and its fire. 

LXVIII. 

But, not all are thus — the passionate alone 
Can meet, or know, or merit such a doom ; 

Unto the heart all joy or pain is known. 
Making itself of one or all the tomb ; 

For oh ! the heart at last, is but its own 

Urn, and gives the ashes of its feelings room. 

That blazed with joy or there expired with pain. 

For such unto the heart returns again. 



48 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto II. 



Late as Alberto slumbered in that isle.. 

He had a dream, embracing many a year — 
Of aspect strange it seemed to him the while. 

But fitting to life, as they oft appear ; 
He deemed with many he did proudly smile, 

And then with them was forced to give a tear 
For what met then and there, their strickened eyes — 
Sad recompense for unholy sacrifice. 

L.XX. 

He saw distinct as then he deemed, a man* 
Of noble mien and of expression bland. 

Lead forth to battle an intrepid clan. 

To free from chains and tyranny their land ; 

And when the race of war and strife had ran. 
He saw him midst a mighty nation stand 

Even as a god — who had from foreign foes 

Redeemed the soil, wherein his dust repose. 



Oh sacred dust ! dust of a hero, who. 

In arms unequalled was — in council sage ; 

Thy mighty name hath rang creation through — 
And yet shall sound in each succeeding age ; 

Yes ! age after age, shall thy fame renew ; 
Thy name from each crave a rightful homage 

Peace to thy ashes ! mighty hero, peace ; 

May ne'er the voice of praise and glory cease. 

* Gen. Washine^ton, the Revolution, Stc. 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 49 

LXXII. 

Full in the midst of a republic, stood 

An adamantine temple, circled round 
With famed hero's and with patriot's blood. 

That sunk not in the soil — but ever bound 
The mighty faljric, even as the flood 

An island binds ; immovable, and sound 
'Twas deemed by eacli artificer, who in 
Wisdom ended it as they did begin. 



Heavenward it rose in its own strength, and proud 
And beautiful, as then and there it stood ; 

And men in homage Ioav before it bowed ; 
And Time's destroying power it withstood ; 

And men of wisdom in their praise were loud. 
When they beheld it, and pronounced it good. 

As did the Father, when he saw the light. 

Usurp the wide, unbounded veil of night. 

LXXIV. 

In structure firm — and beauteous in form too ; 

In wisdom planned, pursued and finished alone; 
And nations marvelled — models of it drew. 

To be as one great safeguard to their own 
Rights and laws — as it had been to those who 

Reared it in their land — and who still are known 
In history's page, in their country's tongue — 
For oft the fane with their just praise have rung. 



50 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto II. 

I.XXV. 

Four sides it had — on each was Liberty 

Inscribed^ that mocked the crushing hand of Time — 
Illumed as with the light of one, who was the 

First to model, and rear it in a clime 
Which heaven had fitted for the bold and free ; 

Thus it stands, or stood in aspect all sublime. 
The mighty keystone to a nation vast. 
Reared but to fall and crumble with the last. 



It stood, I say, amidst a nation vast — 
And was their perpetual boast and pride. 

And over all an equal blessing cast. 

As doth the sun alike o'er land and tide. 

When upward he the verge of morn hath passed. 
And in mid-heaven would triumphant ride ; 

So, even so, did this vast temple stand, 

Scat'ring blessings impartial o'er the land. 



Men had, alas ! turned traitors to allegiance ! 

And he saw corruption's cankering blight 
Deface the fane that claimed all precedence 

In a land made but mighty by its might ; 
And men had pledged themselves in its defence. 

And bled to shield it from each reckless wight. 
For such he deemed he saw ev'n in the clime 
Where stood this temple in its might sublime. 



Canto II.] ALBERTO. 51 



Thus was it by corruption stained, and defamed 
Too by ambition — treachery — the long line 

Of passions which men wear, and which were aimed 
As in madness to crush the fane divine — 

The heritage which human blood reclaimed — 
Blood of their fathers — shed to defend — refine — 

Exalt — sustain those who the gift refuse ; 

Then wear the chains ye forge, since chains ye choose. 



As yet it had not crumbled to the ground. 
Because Corruption had not sapped its base. 

Nor yet Ambition fairly 'round it wound ; 
But now a legion of aspirants base. 

And frenzied in their zeal, 'gainst it was found, 
Until they did its sacred shrine deface— 

And where it stood in its own majesty. 

Nought saw he there save chains and slavery. 

LXXX. 

But he remembered no republic yet. 

Had ever lived as long as 'twas designed. 

But one and all with the same fate had met 
That had been modelled by the human mind ; 

Star after star of freedom early set. 

Until her heaven each one had resigned — 

And all perchance untimely was resigned. 

Since deemed a boon the best among mankind. 



52 HOPKiNs'woRES. [Canto II. 



Oh, Liberty ! gift of all gifts the best ! 

At least, so deemed by man in every age ; 
To gain thee, hath even 'gainst thee transgressed. 

And with foul wrong smeared o'er thy virgin page — 
Mocked even thy blessing when it would have blessed. 

And bloody wars for thy possession wage, — 
Virtue — Love — Innocence — all, hath been slain. 
That thee for one general good might reign. 

LXXXII. 

Fane of Liberty ! for such I deign to call 
Thee still, though prostrate by Corruption's hand ! 

And unborn millions shall deplore thy fall. 
When they shall drag their fetters in a land 

(Once deemed the might'est in herself of all,J 
Where Freedom's temple did triumphant stand. 

Such did the vision of his dream unfold. 

By which perchance, a nation's fall 's foretold. 



END OF CANTO TWO. 



CANTO III 



"O I if thou be the same Egean, speak. 

And speak unto the same Emilia." — Shakspeare. 

"I run it throu2:h, ev'n from my boyish days 

To the very moment when she bade me tell it :" — lb. 

"When first I did impart my love to you, 
I freely told you all the wealth I had." — lb. 



IzA ! thou Stranger-heroine of my song. 
And lone relic of "'a. once glorious race," 

How did thy love, and thy own beauty throng 
My mind, with all their magic charms and grace, 

(For thou wert imaged in my fancy long,) 
Long ere I deemed to look upon thy face — 

Ay, long ere I left "my own, my native land," 

Thou wert imaged to me by Fancy's hand ; 
6 



54 H o P K I N s ' w o R K s . [Canto III. 

n. 

Yes ! ere I left my native land, I dreamed 

Of one even like to thee — of one who 
Was thine image in my mind — one who seemed 

Unto me then as thou art now — and threw 
Around me other scenes, as then I deemed. 

And other feelings — feelings strange as new 
Held their dominion o'er me — and my heart. 
Bathed as in the joy they did then impart. 



From out the ocean of my thoughts, one came 

Far dearer than all else — the thought of one 
Who, rose as from the promethean flame 

Of fancy — and with beauty like to none 
Of Earth's fair daughters — but did singly claim 

That heritage of nature, which hath done 
Its mystic work on thousands — nor shall cease. 

But reign alike o'er Egypt, Spain, or Greece- 



Yes ! from out the ocean of my thoughts, one 
Came embodied in a being fair and young — 

The child of beauty — born beneath the sun 
That sparkles on the sea-girt isle I sung. 

Or strove but late to sing — and yet for none 
Save thee, fair Iza, I my harp had strung — 

No ! none save thee had called from it a tone— 

Thou art the genius of my song alone. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 55 



From out the quick and mystic depths of thought. 
With all its visions bright, the restless mind 

Within itself an image fair had wrought — 
An idol to the heart — to be enshrined 

In its divinity of love, and make naught 

Else a sharer of its worship — none combined 

With that all beauteous idol of its love. 

Whose love is in my thread of being wove. 



Were such creation then but fancy's child — 
The fading meteor of the chainless mind — 

Could the image of such thoughts have beguiled. 
When they are re-imaged back in thee, and bind 

Me to thee, the being of my mind, wild 
As it was in its creative search to find 

On earth a being that alone should be 

Its image, model, type, and simile ; 



No! far, far more than this, than these are they, 
Since they in thee have their own model found, 

And the heart, its idol — be it of clay. 

Breathing clay, as is its worshipper — bound 

As with its being, and to live its day 
Of joy or of pain — but still cling around 

Thee, Iza ! yes ! still, still around thee cling. 

For thou art now its idol, breath and being. 



56 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto HI. 



When cast upon the ocean as a reed. 

And storm and darkness reigned in their full might. 
And man his fate could in the tempest read, 

Making more hideous still the face of night. 
How did my spirit the voice of thine heed. 

That spoke as through the raging storm — and bright 
Thine image rose as from the ocean's foam. 
The image that was with me from my home. 

IX. 

In the dim twilight of the ruddy dawn. 

Or when the stars came forth with silent tread. 

And night her pall had on creation drawn, 
How in the stars have I our meeting read. 

And saw thy beauty imaged in the morn. 
That smiling rose on my unpillowed head. 

For oh — what have I not endured for the 

Impassioned feelings of my heart, and thee. 



But not in vain have I endured for thee — 
From out of love and sufferance shall spring 

The fountain of all joy — and which shall be 
The ocean of its bliss — and time shall fling 

Its sunshine on its bosom with all the 
Radiance of the star of hope emerging 

From the deep midnight darkness of the soul. 

When on it late, despair all darkling stole. 



Canto III.] 



ALBERTO 



57 



Of other lands far fairer than my own, 

I too did dream — of lands that wooed the sight. 

And dazzled with the brightness on them thrown 
From heaven sparkling down, and with its light. 

Dyed them in the diamond's hue, till they shone 
As shine the bright and fadeless orbs of night. 

And cradled in the ocean's giant arms. 

Won with their winning beauty and their charms. 

xu. 

As cradled in the Ocean's giant arms, 
Oft on the isle on which I stand, I gazed 

With fancy's eye, and saw her thousand charms 
Then expand, as now — -and the ocean glazed 

With the crimson blush of morn, which disarms 
It of its terrors, and hath justly raised 

The standard of its beauty, — these, all these 

Before me rose, but not then as now they please. 



Night — oh, beauteous change of nature, hail ! 

Not less I love thee now than in life's spring. 
When thou didst lend enchantment to each tale 

I sang, and yet again, ag-ain would sing. 
Though they may naught to me or mine avail. 

Yet o'er my soul they did a sweetness fling. 
And wooed me on, on with ambitious haste. 
In after day the fruit of them to taste. 
6* 



5S HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 



Night, oh, magic night ! lovely in thy light 

Too looked the distant land of which I dreamed — 

The land which fancy brought unto my sight. 

And soft on which the moon all sparkling gleamed. 

Nor wrapped it in the dreary pall of night. 

But with heaven's own glowing brightness teemed. 

And girded with the ocean then as now. 

With night's own lustre kindling on its brow. 

XV. 

Lulled by the song of sea nymphs and night's charms. 
The storm-spirit of the mighty ocean slept 

As sleeps an infant in its mother's arms, — 
And silence on the slumb'ring ocean crept. 

And like the glow of twilight, too, disarms 
It of its wrath and terror, while I kept 

My gaze unbroken on it and the isle. 

That rose as from its waters with a smile 

XVI. 

Before the restless eye of fancy, ere 

I looked upon it — ere it did greet me 
With its beauty, which hath ev'n made it dear 

Besides the beauty of its daughter — thee, 
Iza — thee, whom fortune made to reappear, 

For thou wert imaged to me o'er the sea, 
The bounding sea my pilgrim feet hath trod. 
Thou, my love's idol — my protector, God. 



Canto in.] ALBERTO. 59 



The night is silent — but all are not still ; 

The million tongues of ocean, earth and sky. 
Unto my heart a language speak, that fill 

It with devotion to my God — ^whom I 
Survey in all — in all, that mysterious will 

Of whatever is, met and meets my eye ; 
Not in heaven only — but ocean, earth, all. 
With his omnipresence glow eternal. 



Could that which is within my bosom pent. 
Be in expression thrown, I then could speak 

That mysterious power — that omnipotent 
And eternal being, which all bespeak ; 

Ay — all bespeak and speak — each element 
With one eternal voice, aloud or weak. 

Hymn his own praise and glory with that voice, 

While I in silent wonder, but rejoice. 

XIX. 

Iza ! I said I dreamed of thy land and 

Thee — that, with fancy's eye on them and thee 

I gazed long ere I left my native land — 
That, thy spirit did greet mine on the sea, 

When night her wings of darkness did expand. 
And storm and tempest raged with frantic glee- 

Ev'n as a demon shrieked the winds aloud. 

And as a ribbon rent the sail and shroud. 



60 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto III. 



Iza ! not in that hour only did thy 

Spirit greet my own — but when on my brow 
The pall of sadness hung, and deep in my 

Spirit there was a pang that made it bow 
Ev'n as a reed before the wind — but why 

Recall the distant past unto thee now — 
Can it redeem what was not then secured. 
Or save the heart from what it hath endured. 



Iza! my heart hath battled oft with strife 
In day of desolation — warred with pain. 

And wrong, and outrage too ! but the keen knife 
Of torture may ev'n yet be cleft in twain. 

And it again — relieve its day oHife ! 

It hath torture brooked — may brook it again ; 

From out the shattered web of other days 

Spring hope and love, that still around it blaze. 



Yes ! thou my heart, hath borne, and yet may bear 
Far more of fate's or fortune's every ill ! 

The seal may be set — but, /, I will tear 
It, and to fortune bid defiance still 

To wed my spirit tamely to despair, 
. And tame it down obedient to her will ! 

My blood may curdle and my spirit sour. 

Still shall live my mind unscathed in power. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 61 

xxm. 

But no more of this ; though the crushing blast 
Of Fate swept o'er life's harp with torture rife. 

Snapped one by one its chords^, and crushed at last 
The tones I fondly loved in early life ! 

They have departed — one by one have past. 
And left behind them, torture, pain and strife ! 

And let them go ; it may be retuned yet — 

To sweeter tones it may perchance be set. 

XXIV. 

But no more of this — since 'tis not my theme — 
For other scenes and feelings greet me now; 

Though not of joy or happiness they teem, — 
I have not always wore so bright a brow. 

For even in youth's fever and its dream. 
My spirit was made before its fate to bow. 

And my heart was scathed as by its fire. 

In its impassioned moments of desire. 



Oh — what but feeling is a life at last ! 

Feelings of pain or pleasure as they be — 
Take what we have in joy or sorrow past. 

And they fill that vacuum, life's reality ; 
On life's bleak journey be the eye but cast. 

And what a waste and desert do we see ; 
The flow'ry hopes of youth lie withered there. 
Amid life's common mass of calls or care. 



62 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 

XXVI. 

The dreams — dreams of youth, one by one have past. 

And left life's cold reality behind ; 
Each vision bright from out the mind is cast. 

That once the essence of its being combined — 
The heart too in devotion fond and fast. 

These visions as within itself it shrined, 
For oh ! the heart unto such visions cling 
With a death grasp, in youth's imagining. 



Iza ! what Iza, have I said or sung ! 

Have I been wand'ring from thee and my theme ; 
I never deemed my lyre would be strung 

Again to notes that echo back the dream 
Of youth, when hope, and love, and life was young- 

But that its notes would only with thee teem. 
Who gives the present and the future tone — 
The tone of love, the heart of either own. 



*'The cells of memory are wide open thrown." 
And through their depths, the light of years past. 

Comes with a hallowed brightness, all their own. 
As when thine image in my heart was cast. 

And thou wert, ere I saw thee, to me known ; 
Even the many perils I have passed 

That I might look upon thy face, but seem 

Even more harmless than a harmless dream. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 63 



Again, I say, I saw thy land and thee 

With fancy's eye, long ere I left my land ; 

I saw it rise from the infinity 

Of waters that around it bright expand. 

And type the face of heaven in their beauty. 
And Him attest who in his mighty hand 

Doih hold them— ^him, who on the whirlwind ride. 

And whatever is, was, or shall be, guide. 



Then Iza, thy fair land and thee I sought 
To feed a restless passion for the grand 

And lovely — for, of such my soul is wrought 
Nor in its aspirations knows command ; 

To look upon thy face, which hath taught 
Me feelings, known not till thee and thy land 

Before me stood — for this alone I sought 

Thee and thy land — nor hath availed me naught — 

XXXI. 

For oh — from them and thee alone hath sprung 
A fountain, which the heart owns in its dearth — 

The heart that even to thine image clung. 
Wherein it found existence, being and birth. 

But to be re-imaged in a being young 
And beautiful — a being but of earth. 

Yet still, the idol of the heart to be — 

My own that idol, Iza, finds in thee. 



64 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 

1. 

**0h, Alberto ! I too did dream of one — 
A wanderer from a land of freedom, who 

Had left his own, but not his own to shun. 
But the pure beauty of my own to view. 

2. 

"And one he was of passions quick and strong. 
And loved and sought the beautiful and grand ; 

He was a restless dweller in the throng. 
Because alone he did amidst them stand. 

3. 

"Oft in his youth he solitude would seek. 
To hold communion with the beautiful — 

With things that did to him a language speak 
In nature's voice, as sweet, as wonderful. 

4. 

"'The ocean, earth, and sky, a language spoke 
Unto his heart — whose mysterious tone 

Q,uells its haughty passions while it awoke 
The spirit of devotion in his own. 

5. 

"These were his altars — and his idol god ; 

To these, and these alone he homage paid ; 
Saw earth and heaven subject to his nod. 

On whose mysterious power they are laid. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 65 

6. 
''Because he worshipped only God — the chief— 

Nor would bow down as other men hath done 
To the Triune, charged him with unbelief; 

The universe itself, can speak but one. 

7. 

"And he hath been the vision of my dreams — 
And rose from out my fancy as a star 

Of heaven, and as it in heaven gleams. 
Prophetic through the future gleamed afar. 

8. 

**His image gleamed with a prophetic light. 
Far through the dingy cloud of coming years. 

And stayed ray sinking soul in sorrow's night. 
When for the loved and loving, flowed my tears. 



''His image sprang from the impassioned mind. 
And my fond heart enshrined it as its own, 

Its own, to be its idol, and in it find 

The deep responsive chord of love alone. 

10. 

"That this image would reappear, I de.emed. 
Nor live but in the prospect of long years — 

That it in after day would be redeemed 
In one, in whom its model now appears. 

7 



66 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 

u. 

*'And I did chide the tardy wings of time ; 

For oh — my heart had all impatience grown 
To meet its idol from another clime. 

The clime that sweetly in my fancy shone, 

12. 

"Where dwelt the idol of my love and heart — 
Whose image lived and breathed in every thought. 

And blended with it, though from it apart — 
The image of the being my fancy wrought. 

13. 

"Yes ! oft the tardy wings of time I chid — 
And gazed far o'er the ocean, grand and bold. 

To give the idol and the being, forbid 
'Till now — as my prophetic fancy told. 

14. 

*'^Ere one by one my kindred round me fell. 
Until, oh, God ! I looked on none on earth. 

My heart did with the coming of thee, swell. 
And soothed and stayed it in its bitter dearth. 

15. 

"When on the bounding waters brightly gleamed 
The glow of twilight, and in beauty dyes 

The ocean's brow, from out the wave I deemed 
To see the being of my fancy rise — 



Canto III.] ALBEBTO. 67 

16. 

*^'For he, the being of my fancy, sought 
My land and habitation on the wave ; 

By hope, and love, and fancy, I was taught 
God would that being for my idol save. 

17. 

*^But now no more — for long hath sunk the sun ; 

The pall of night hangs on the ocean's brow ; 
With fancy and her vision I have done. 

For I behold its imao-e in thee nmjoy 



Thus Iza to Alberto soft revealed 

The vision of her mind — as he to her ; 

The visions which by each had been concealed — 
Nor did the mind with o'er wrought fancy err. 

For time, the love and fancy of each sealed 
And stamped it with reality — from blur 

Or blight their love in its divinity 

Was free, if such with human love can be. 



But now the hour had come when they must part ; 

And oh ! to such how bitter is that hour — 
And, well might it have wrung a colder heart 

Than that of Iza's, (since love was its dower,) 
To see the object of its love depart. 

And not be wrung ; the heart with all its power. 
Its iron power and strength, is weak in love. 
And feels a pang when all else fail to move. 



68 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto III. 

XXXIV. 

Alberto halh departed from the isle. 

Where he had with our heroine tarried long — 

And now the Grecian coast before him smile — 
And now around him crowd the slavish throng. 

For still her sons are bound with fetters vile ; 
Is there no power to redress such wrong — 

No arm to free her sons from slavery's chains — 

I\o blood of freemen flowing in their veins. 



Alas, for Greece ! how hath her glory gone ; 

How hath the day of all her greatness fled ; 
Shall not that "day again upon her dawn — 

Are not her sons, sons of the mighty dead. 
Who saw her glory in her glorious morn. 

And bade her glorious be — are they but bred 
For bondsmen — speak Spirit of Liberty — 
Shall ev'r the sons of fallen Greece be free ? 



Hath freedom's spirit Greece forever fled — 
Or bleeding, flutters still upon her plains. 

Or hath it perished with the crumbling dead ; 
Boast none of all her sons, a freeman's veins — 

Is there not left of freedom's robe a shred 

To wrap her form in; break sons of Greece, your chains! 

Tear the diadem from the tyrant's brow. 

And bid Oppression proud, before you bow. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 69 



Look ye to other lands, to this, for aid — 

The land where freedom triumphed in her might 

When tyrant's would her sons have bondsmen made — 
Who would have broke her eagle's boundless flight. 

And hurled him lifeless to the ground — and bade 
Them cring and plod their way through slavery's nightj 

But thrice happy land — land of liberty ! 

Whose eagle mocks that tyrant, monarchy. 

XXX VIII. 

Sons of Greece — fallen and degraded Greece ! 

Fair and beautiful are your daughters yet — 
Your sun and sky as bright (nor will they cease 

In beauty and in brightness) as when set 
The sun of freedom, freedom and of peace 

In your once glorious land ; rise ye, and whet 
The blade of justice — redeem your soil, and 
Stand, as stood your noble sires in your land. 



Yes ! fair and lovely are your daughters still — 
And, are not such daughters dear — dear as they 

Have to your fathers been — fail they to fill 
Ye with freedom's holy fire, in their day ; 

Pail they as such to teach ye to fulfil 

As men, your duty, and oppression stay — 

To redeem a land long by slavery soiled. 

The land that time and tymnny despoiled. 
7* 



70 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 



The sun ne'er rose upon a sweeter land 

Than thine hath been, oh, Greece ! and thy own sun 
Of greatness, ere it went down, did expand 

O'er other lands that looked on thee and won 
From thee their glory and their greatness — and 

Like thee hath fallen, too, like thee undone ; 
Shall Freedom not o'er ye her wings expand — 
Shall not her spirit break Oppression's band. 

XLI. 

In yonder palace, dingy now by time. 

And where the night-bird a habitation finds, 

Monarchs were wont to dwell ; the very slime 
Of years hangs green upon its walls — the winds 

Moan melancholy through the wreck sublime. 
Lingering in beautiful decay — and binds 

The present period with the distant past. 

And stands a record of it, while it last. 



The crumbhng columns melancholy stand. 
Bathed in the light of the eternal moon. 

The monuments alone to speak the past, and 
Tell, here the sun of art had reached his noon. 

Then sudden set, as by stern Fate's command ; 
Set, but not forever extinguished — soon 

As by magic springs in another clime. 

And lives, despite the cank'riug breath of Time. 



Canto IIL] alberto. 71 

XLIII. 

Art in the dusty ruins exhausted seems — 
For still perfection can be traced in all ; 

The prostrate spire, the mould'ring dome, still teems 
With beautiful perfection, the giant wall 

Is standing in its strength — awhile redeems 
From ruin and oblivion what soon must fall 

Within the grasp of Time — but the model stands 

In beauteous harmony in other lands. 

LXIV, 

The moon in silence mounts the azure height. 

And lights the ruins of the city vast ; 
The shattered pillar and dome are wrapped in light. 

And tottering spires their dim shadows cast, 
Height'ning the beauty and the scene of night; 

And yonder sleeps the bay with bosom glassed 
And sparkling in the heaven-blended beam. 
Tinging all, as with the aspect of a dream. 



Here beauty, wealth, and pomp and pride once dwelt ; 

Beauty reigned triumphant then as now. 
Her magic influence and her sway was felt ; 

The lover softly breathed his ardent vow. 
And beauty smiled while love before her knelt — 

Joy glowed in radiance on the lover's brow. 
While to his mistress told his tale of love. 
Who deigned to hear it, and the same approve. 



72 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto III. 



Here too Devotion at the altar knelt. 

For when and where hath not religion been — 

In city, wilds, and wastes, it dwells and dwelt. 
Or where man is, or where he was, was seen ; 

The hierophant was here obeyed and felt — 
And Superstition too, with solemn mien, 

(The garb she wore and wears) her thousands swayed. 

For when and where hath she not been obeyed. 



Through the cleft walls of yonder fane, the light 
Of heaven falls, and on the altar blaze — 

But none now make the sacrificial rite. 
Nor meek Devotion hymn her holy praise 

To heaven — Time hath crushed all in his might ; 
The wild goat now about the altar graze. 

For aisle and altar now are choked with weeds. 

And in the walls the night-bird yearly breeds. 



All now on which I gaze of greatness speak — 
The greatness of a nation, past and gone! 

Among these mouldering ruins ye may seek. 
And trace the hand of genius in each stone ; 

Its fire is extinguished, but left a streak 
Alive within its embers, to tell its dawn. 

Perfection, and decline — still defying time. 

To be transplanted in another clime. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 73 



Yes ! here Art and Genius in perfection live — 
Lives in each shattered relic in the dust. 

And back to Genius, Art her models give, — 
From out the wreck of ages and the rust 

Of time they are redeemed, thrives as they thrive 
Upon this spot, in other lands, and must ; 

Exhumed as from the very tomb of time. 

Still Art and Genius live in forms sublime. 



How weak is man ev'n in his giant might — 
Time with a single puff, blows him away. 

And shrouds his greatness in perpetual night — 
Ev*n in oblivion's tomb, he's doomed to lay : 

There is no guaranty against the blight 
Of that all powerful power. Time; sway 

Power, — all yield dominion to his force. 

Gulfing kings and kingdoms in his course. 



Time, like Ambition, lives on ambitious still. 
Nor owns, nor knows, nor seeks a goal of rest ; 

Did aught his hunger, insatiate hunger fill — 
Let the past, the slumbering past attest ; 

Let kingdoms in oblivion speak his will. 

For they have been his prey with all the rest — 

Yes — let all, all that ivas, speak from the tomb. 

For in the past alone is writ their doom. 



74 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 

LII. 

All here on which I ponder are the wreck 
And ruin, playthings of the tyrant. Time, 

Who in his blighting course still knows no check. 
But reigns triumphant over all, subhme. 

Or beautiful, or good, or aught that deck. 
Adorn, that of a nation or their clime ; 

All, all beneath his mighty power fall. 

For he's the dominator over all. 

LIII. 

Speak ye, ye who were mortal in the past — 
Who wore the form of human upon earth, 

And from its face were blown by times rude blast. 
That made the spot ye beautified, a dearth 

And desolation — and what had been cast 

In beauty's mould, hath strangled in its birth — 

Tell me ye shades, or mortals if ye be. 

Where and what are ye now — your destiny 



A mortal 'mid your relics here, would know — 
Would list a voice from ye in eternity ; 

From your lone habitations high or low, , 
Proclaim your fate, or doom, or destiny — 

Send it in the voice of the winds, or throw 
It from yonder ocean cloud — or in the 

Sparkling moonbeams write it — or if ye will. 

Flash it in the lightning — but ye are still. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 75 



The winds in silence are not hushed — but they 
Breathe music, sweet music on my ear still- 
Yet, of ye they speak not, nor of your day ; 

Ye make them not the organ of your will ; 
In silence rolls the shadowy clouds away. 

And dims the brow of ocean, plain, or hill. 
As they were wont ere I did on ye call 
To make them heralds of ye, one and all. 



And night hath come, but not in darkness dense. 
Nor in deep silence, nor with visage stern. 

But of your doom brings no intelligence — 
Nor form of ye I on night's brow discern : 

Nor hath the moonbeams faded — but intense 
They fall around me — all to beauty turn. 

But still in them I naught of ye behold — 

Ye nor your destiny do they unfold. 

LVII. 

And ocean too, is silent and serene — 

The winds are slumbering on its bosom — and 
Silence mingles harmonious with the scene — 

The storm-spirit sleeps, sleeps on sea and land- 
But not on ocean's bosom hath been seen 

A trace of ye — naught visible on it stand 
That type a shadow of ye — but are still 
And smooth, baffling my wishes and my will. 



76 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 



The lightning too, from heaven gleams as red. 
As swift in forks and flashes speeds to earth 

As when I called on ye, ye of the dead. 

To make these things your organs, and give birth 

To intelligence of ye ; in none I've read 

Ye or your doom — the winds broke not the dearth 

Of knowledge, nor rent the veil that wraps ye — 

Alas! oblivion is but your destiny. — 



But no — ye, ye are not forgotten yet — 

Your relics type your greatness and survive ye 

And none while they shall last can ye forget, — 
They stand as they stood to tell and be the 

Test of genius and of taste — and to set 
The faultless pattern for posterity : 

And what of beauty do the copies claim — 

Let taste and judgment give to Genius, fame. 

LX. 

With what a moral do these ruins teem : 
Here melancholy in luxury may brood — 

The poet too here finds a fitting theme 

In wrecks of art and ages round him strewed. 

Which on the bosom of Time's noiseless stream 
Are floating to oblivion's ocean — wooed 

By Genius and Ambition in their day. 

Now like their votaries, mould 'ring in decay. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 77 



They point the course and end of man on earth ; 

Death's victim man was, and shall be again — 
Yet may mortal hope, and /p.eZ another birth 

From death will spring, and keep unbroke the chain 
Of being — yes ! in gravity or mirth, 

Man feels his hopes and wishes are not vain — 
For what a gulf of nothingness we see 
In an unconscious immortality. — 



Ye ruins ! ye tomb of generations gone ! 

Ye wreck and mockery of the tyrant Time ; 
As sweetly on ye will the morrow dawn. 

As if ye in your beauty stood sublime; 
Ye ruins ! ye in the glory of your morn. 

Hath been the glory of a land and clime 
Once glorious too — but glorious now no more. 
For desolation stalks upon your shore. 



Ye ruins — ruins of a once glorious land, 

A land of which ye w?re the boast and pride 

When ye did in your might and greatness stand, 
And beauty as your genius did preside. 

While Freedom guarded with a jealous hand. 
Whose sacred spirit long hath fled your side 

And left ye prostrate — the spoils but of time — 

The wreck and ruin of a beauteous clime. 
8 



78 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto III. 



Ye ruins that with the forms of age expand. 
Lining the arena of long years that hide 

Your glory — the glory ye did command. 
And with ye through long ages did abide. 

But hath departed from ye and the land 
' Of which ye were the glory, boast and pride ; 

Yet lovely are ye in the glowing light 

Of heaven, that wraps ye in a lustre bright. 



Ye ruins ! what far ages ye unfold ! 

Ye Hnk the present with the slumb'ring past, 
The wide, unmeasured past that o'er ye rolled 

As a gulfing wave or poisoning blast ; 
Ye now but in your shattered arms enfold 

The ashes of your glory— 'tis the last 
Of ye and yours, save your recorded name. 
Which from obhvion's tomb doth ye reclaim. 



And with ye fell your dwellers one and all — 
Your builders too hath found in ye a tomb; 

On beauty's brow destruction hangs her pall — 
And yonder marble speaks a lover's doom ; 

A form too moulders in yon dingy wall, 
But the unlettered marble speaks not whom 

A sacred silence seems o'er ye to brood. 

While ye are crumbling in your solitude. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 79 



Full on yon shattered palace gleams the light 
From heaven's mirrored and unclouded brow. 

And all its time-dimmed halls again are bright. 
Where sad the night winds pour their dirges low. 

Where Time hath left his canker and his blight. 
And made ye but a desolation now — 

The crumbling relic of departed days — 

The tomb of power, glory and of praise. 



Yes ! bright the halls of yonder palace, now. 
But not with flames of Avealth that on them fell. 

But with the light of heaven now they glow. 
Where mirth and beauty oft was wont to dwell. 

And joy was kindled on the pearl -decked brow. 
The heart did with its glee and gladness swell — 

And where the eye too flashed love's holy fire. 

And maidens bosoms throbbed with soft desire. 



To-morrow's sun will beam on ye as bright. 
As softly o'er ye will his wings expand. 

As ere Time smote ye with a deadly blight. 
As ere ye fell, fell by his iron hand. 

And on ye look as when ye stood in might. 
In beauty, and in pride — as ye did stand. 

Fresh from the hand of genius and of art. 

And which can with your ashes but depart. 



80 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto III 

LXX. 

Bathed in the moon-tinged shadow of the night, 
A hallowed lustre seems on all to rest — 

And round each glowing form of marble bright, 
A ling'ring glory clings, soft as the west. 

The orb-gemmed west, when lingers still the light 
Of day, and in the pride of twilight dressed. 

And where the sun his golden course has trod. 

The mighty semblance of the living God. 

LXXI. 

Adieu ye ruins ! ye that as a gem 

In fragments fell, with broken lustre glow, — 

With time-worn and shattered diadem 
Of glory, as a mockery on your brow ; 

How would the past your aspect now contemn. 
Prostrated in the dust — in ruin low. 

With helmet shivered by the stroke of time. 

The crumbling ruins of a winning clime. 

LXXII. 

And yet adieu, ye relic of a landj 

A land despoiled and of a nation gone — 

The pilgrim hero of my song may stand 

'Mid ye no more — and other scenes hath drawn 

Him hence, and other themes his muse demand ; 
Far o'er the waters to the isle (where dawn 

The day in brightness) he had left but late, 

(That on the bosom of the ocean sate 



Canto rrr.j alberto. 81 

LXXIII. 

With heaven her tiara, gemmed with stars,) 
Again would go — and, where he had left her 

Daughter, sole idol of his heart, that wars 
With passion — with that it 7nay not transfer 

Or shrink from, though, it as the metal jars 
The needle of his being — leaves its blur 

And blight as wintry frost upon the leaf — 

So of his, pain or pleasure, is the chief. 

LXXIV. 

Again upon the sea, the bounding sea. 

That round him foam in majesty and might, — 

And, far in the misty distance dies the 

Land fthough fallen) still lovely in the light 

Of her own golden sun of purity. 

And the silvery shadow of her night, 

That wraps her as in a meteor round. 

But alas ! where man, bondsmen still are found j 

LXXV. 

Again upon the blue and bounding sea. 
Whose waters as a mirror wide expand. 

And the heavens in their divinity 

Of light, is imaged in them by the hand 

Of Him who holds them in his palm — the 
Sole source that doth infinity command — 

Sole mysterious — universal power. 

Heard in the thunder and seen in the shower. 



82 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto in. 

LXXVI. 

Yes ! again upon the waters — and the winds 

Are springing on them fresh — the coast, the bright 

Coast has faded far in the blue that binds 
And circles ocean in its ether light. 

From where the myriad orbs of heaven finds 
A radiance through the glowing veil of night ; 

Proud as the eagle in his boundless flight. 

The bark is bounding with a magic might. 



And seems a thing of magic on her way. 
Her way of speed, of beauty and of light. 

And with the heaving waters sport and play ; 
No dingy pall is on the brow of night. 

But with unbroken lustre reign and sway ; 

Ye stars ! ye kindling gems of heaven ! bright 

Are ye shining from the eternal throne 

Of Him, sole King, as ye hath ever shone. 



Ye stars ! ye bright orbs of infinity ! 

On ye I gaze — and gazing feel an awe 
In the infinity of feeling ye 

Create ! and in ye I have deemed I saw 
Love imaged — imaged in the purity 

Of light that within and round ye blaze — for 
The mind hath held within itself love's form 
The form of star-like brightness, pure and warm. 



Canto m.] ALBERTO. 83 

LXXIX. 

Yes ! such the form of love within the mind — 

Of such its brightness and divinity — 
And in the heart a sanctuary find — 

The heart, the fountain of its being — the 
Shrine wherein its own sanctity was shrined. 

Bright with its kindled fire of purity. 
Kindled but to be extinguished — and the 
Heart the urn of its ashes made to be. — 

LXXX. 

Such now is not my theme — and so we part ; 

For in life's morn, when my lyre was strung. 
Strung with a trembling hand and beating heart, 

(For its first tones, like love's, move us when young. 
And at its very strains the soul will start) 

Its chords to love was woke — of it I sung — 
For oh! my heart gushed as a mountain stream 
With life and love — life's first and only dream. 



But 1 return — for such is not my theme. 
Nor hath been since the close of life's brief morn, 

And which expanded round me like a dream. 
And as such departed — as such was borne 

Away by years, swift years that did sweetly teem 
With youth's most fairy visions in its dawn. 

Its dawn of brightness — closed in cloud and gloom. 

For such must be of such an one the doom. 



84 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 



Man oft is his own dupe and passions' slave! 

Such I am — or such at leasts I have been — 
And perchance will be again : I would crave 

To shun the rock on which I split — and wean 
The mind as from itself — and thereby save 

It from strife and passion — from things unseen 
Save to itself, created as its own. 
And which forsook it, leaving it alone. 



And yet, I would not be one of the weeds 

That spring up in life's vale, and there decay — 

The eagle I'd be, that was bred and breeds 
Upon the mountain's summit — Uves his day 

Of triumph there alone — nor ever heeds 
The humble and the vale-born on his way. 

But o'er them he soars, looking proudly down 

The while — what can they do — at best but frown. 



Who in life's vale would be an humble weed — 
The walking poppy there— and there decay ? 

Of my own mind I did not sow the seed ; 

If the fruit be bitter through life's brief day — 

Be it so ! it cannot at least, exceed 
In bitterness all that have past away ; 

Life's fount cannot be poisoned deeper yet — 

Nor on life's page a bitterer seal be set. 



Canto III. j ALBERTO. 85 

LXXXV. 

I've not been as the expiring dolphin ; 

Friendship I owe to man, and ever owed ; 
But perchance, too early I did begin 

Its bestowment on my kind ; too early glowed 
The flame by which I fondly sought to win 

Its due reward in life ; too early sowed 
The seed of kindness, and too early found 
The fruit was all bitterness, and unsound 

LXXXVI. 

And this I might have known ! ay, this I might 

Have known in youth, and timely schooled the heart 

Against deception, and the with'ring blight 
That from it spring ; but no matter — we part 

As others before parted — and the night 
That shrouded deep the soul, may yet depart. 

And Phoenix-like, a sweetly radiant morn 

From out the midnight of the soul may dawn. 



It was a dream — a boyish dream, at best — 
But my own fancy wought in youth a scene 

Whereon I gazed as by some strange behest. 
And saw what was perchance too briefly seen. 

And felt a rapture, felt but by the blessed : 
It was the mintVs crea Hon — and hath been 

Even as a genius of strange growth. 

And as with joy encircled, led me forth 



86 HOPEINS'WORKS. [Canto III. 

LXXXVIII. 

Into a land where fame and joy are wed. 

Beside the ideal being of my mind ; 
A land of fame and flowers — and which shed 

Their odour on the golden air : to bind 
My brow with wreaths of fragrant roses red. 

The task that to this being was assigned; 
And then she wrought a diamond crown to Fame, 
And called the wearer — I need not write his name. 

LXXXIX. 

But wherefore should I now recall this scene — 
•"Twas fancy's sketch — imagination's child ; 

But no matter — it in my time hath been 
The houri of the heart — and oft beguiled 

With a most strange and most beAvitching mein 
The hours of youth ; and thus my youth I whiled 

Away amidst the hight creations of the mind. 

Wherein, as in an urn, life's all was shrined. 



Nor may I midst this scene have dwelt in vain 

With that created being of the mind. 
Who there with me did dwell — and may again — 

Again my brow with roses she may bind. 
And wean the heart from passion and from pain , 

And in the folds of love alone be twined. 
Watching new buds of joy opening round. 
And while the brow with Fame's bright wreath is bound. 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 87 

XCI. 

From out the past I can of pleasure glean — 
For still some remnant lingers in the heart — 

Some remnant of the joys that hath long been 
By mem'ry cherished — cherished to depart 

Even as life's visions in its morn is seen ; 
They are but meteors that but brief impart 

A radiance to the early hour of life. 

Then fade, and leave behind undying strife. 

XCII. 

But why with fate or fortune wrangle now — 

Can it subdue the canker of the heart. 
Or re-illume the gloom encircled brow ; 

Or from the soul turn memory's poisoned dart. 
Or bid the wave of passion cease to flow. 

With which to war hath ever been the part 
Of thee, my heart — whose fire may tempered be — 
So, shun the scathing flash that fell on thee. 

XCIII. 

Were I not speaking of a boyish dream. 

Whose spirit crossed the vision of my mind, 

(Imbodied as my foncy then did deem) 
And on my brow a wreath of glory twined, 

(Bright as the stars that in yon heaven beam,) 
Wherein eternal fame should be combined ; 

In faith I was — and would the same recall 

With its briffht imbodied visions all. 



88 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto III. 

XCJV. 

I would recall it with each object dear. 
That stood within the vision of the mind. 

Pealing the notes of glory in my ear. 

And reared with fairy hands what was destined 

To stand a memorial many a year 

To him, for whom 'twas reared — and left behind 

From out the wreck of ages to redeem 

The name of him, who dreamt in youth this dream. 



And who in youth hath not been fancy's child. 
And felt the joy of aspirations high 

Whilst fancy's image bright before him smiled- 
And with an eager and prophetic eye — 

Saw beauties as by magic rise, undefiled 
By contact with dull earth — untainted lie 

Within the mind's domain, where fancy sways. 

Tuning the soul to harmony and praise. 

XCVI. 

And is this but the phantasy of brain, — 
The unsubstantial images of thought — 

The airy nothing in the mind's domain — 
Let it be ; I but know that it hath taught 

The heart a sense I'd have it teach again ; 
For 'twas from this alone that fancy wrought 

Within the mind that weaned it from the past. 

Whereby each pang from out of it was cast. — 



Canto III.] ALBERTO. 89 

XCVII, 

And was not love and beauty found there too. 

Embodied, as in an earthly being fair. 
And which the mind with fancy's pencil drew. 

Radiant and chaste as is the golden air 
Around the stars of heaven — or the dew 

That stands sparkling with a diamond glare 
Upon the opening blooms of morning bright. 
That seem to revel in the golden licrht. 



Yes — there was a being of beauty there. 
Shaped harmonious to the mind alone. 
Chaste and radiant as is the star-lit air. 

Or that which doth the moon at midnight zone- 
As warm in love too, as in beauty fair. 

On whom the winds of passion had not blown. 
Nor as the votary of her love and her. 
Whom passion scathed, and left behind its blur. 

XCIX. 

No more of this — since broken is the spell 
That bound me to the vision of my mind. 

Nor joys again in what therein did dwell ; 
Ye thousand bright creations that combined 

The one bright image of my dream, farewell ! 
No more the heart can be by ye entwined 

In love's soft tendrils — nor its holy flame * 

The soul again from torture can reclaim. 
9 



90 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto III. 



Alas ! there is a bitter dearth of soul 

When love is shipwrecked in death's boundless sea. 
And feel the waves of dark remembrance roll 

O'er the crushed heart, bleeding in agony ; 
To such doth life put on a sable stole. 

And from the soul shuts all save memory — 
Memory ! that hebanon to peace— joy — life ! 
Mother of human wo — of human strife. 



END OF CANTO THREE. 



CANTO IV. 



The fatal time 
Cuts oflf all ceremonies and vows of love, 
And ample interchange of sweet discourse, 
Which so long sundered friends should dwell upon. 

Shakspeare. 

O, how the spring of love resembleth 

Th' uncertain glory of an April day. 
Which now shows all her beauty to the sun, 

And by-and-by a cloud bears all away. — lb. 



And now Alberto hails with gladsome eyes 
The isle from whence he lately did depart. 

That from the waters of the ocean rise— 
The isle where dwells the idol of his heart. 

She whom he left— who for his presence sighs — 
For who that loves but sighs when thus apart 

They live from all, all that they love on earth ; 

To such doth absence make a fearful dearth. 



92 HOPKiNS'woRKS. [Canto IV. 



Far through the misty cloud of distance springs 
The isle from out the waters of the deep. 

And on its brow the sun a beauty flings 

Of golden hue — and soft the light winds sweep 

The mighty waters of the sea, that brings 
My pilgrim hero back again, to reap 

The fruits of love — the love of one alone 

To share — of one, whom beauty made her throne 



And imaged back the being of his mind 

And fancy — the being whom fancy wrought 

In youth — and with each tender thought was twined — 
And whom he ^nong earth's fairest daughters sough t 

But sought in vain — for Iza but combined 

The beauteous image of his mind and thought ; 

In her alone his thoughts imbodied stood — 

The thoughts of youth, in love's impassioned mood. 



Yes ! from his youthful and impassioned mind 
Sprung forth a being beautiful and young. 

That with the tend 'rest threads of passion twined. 
And round his very being fondly clung ; 

In whom the elements of love combined 
In harmony with beauty — softly flung 

Enchantment and a charm around her form 

With beauty glowing with love's quick fire warm. 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 93 



V. 

Such the being of beauty fancy brought 
Within his mind in its impassioned mood. 

Whose image oft he had 'mong beauty sought. 
But sought in vain ; his heart but fondly wooed 

The beauteTTus idol that his fancy wrought. 
Which clung around him in his solitude — 

In his lone hours of desolation dark. 

Ere for yon sea-girt isle he did embark. — 



And now far o'er the waters sinks the sun. 
And bathes the ocean in his golden light — 

The orbs of heaven spring forth one by one 
In its eternal blue, of beauty bright — 

And sky, ocean — all, in twilight's saffron 
Hue is softly robed, the herald of the night ; 

The storm- spirit rides no more the ocean wave^ 

But softly slumbers in his coral cave. 



Ocean Song. 



1. 



Ye spirits of ocean. 
Of tempest and storm, 

How gentle your motion. 
How changed is your form. 



9* 



94 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV. 

2. 

Ye spirits of ocean. 

From your coral cave home. 
Spring now into motion. 

In the tempest now roam. 

3. 

Ye spirits of ocean. 

Where is your dark form. 
Come mingle your portion 

In the element storm. 

4. 

Ye spirits of ocean. 

From your coral bed spring. 
And your dark portion 

In the elements fling. 

5. 

And a red circle binds 

The pale moon around. 
And the gathering winds 

O'er the waters doth bound. 

6. 

And a cloud rides the sky 

In blackness and speed — 
From your coral cave hie. 

And the storm herald heed. 



95 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 

7. 
And the gathering cloud 

Hath spoken on high^ 
And vengeful and loud 

Resounds through the sky. 
8. 
The fire of the cloud 

Is streaming afar. 
And black is the shroud 

That wraps the pale star. 
9. 
The voice of the storm 

Hath spoke through the cloud. 
And all hissing and warm 

It is gleaming aloud. 
10. 
Ye spirits of ocean. 

Say, where is your dark form, 
Come, mingle your portion 

In the gath'ring storm. — 

VII, 

The night is gone ; and early twilight gleams 

With crimson softness o'er the morning sky ; 
Far o'er the bosom of the ocean streams 

The kuidling light of day; and now on high 
The mighty god of day in glory beams. 

And wraps the world in light from his own eye j 
The boundless heavens are bright — Oh, how bright ! 
And ocean slumbers in the morning light. 



96 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto IV, 



Ye heavens — sun — ocean — all — on ye I call ! 

Ye are my altars — before ye I kneel 
In homage and devotion to that all 

Nameless one — him whom ye alone reveal- 
Wrapped round as ye are in the sacred pall 

Of his divinity — and whom I feel 
Within me as on ye I gaze — the throne 
Of that all nameless one, who reigns alone. 



The day is bright ; but dark is Iza's soul ! 

Iza — the heroine of my song, and fair 
Daughter of the isle that so sweetly stole 

But late upon Alberto's vision — where 
He deemed again to meet the idol, sole 

Idol of his heart ; and, is she still there ; 
The boast, the pride, and glory of that isle. 
To meet her lover with a love-lit smile. 



Oh, what hath been the doom of love sincere 
But death or living woe ! what human heart 

E'er loved, loved with devotion deep and dear. 
That was not from its idol torn apart 

And crushed ; and yet denied a soothing tear 
(To sooth and solace in its bitter part) 

Even from the deep fountain of the soul. 

But left a wreck in love's deep sea to roll. 



Canto IV.] 



ALBERTO 



97 



Wrecked in the ocean of its love, the heart 
A living wreck must in that ocean roll — 

Nor sorrow's self a single drop impart 
To quench the deep fire of the burning soul. 

But still unwept must bear its bitter part. 
And see, and feel, from beauty's cheek it stole 

The crimson life-drop ; from the eye its fire. 

That fitful blaze, nor but with life expire. 

XII. 

This — oh — this — is of love alone the doom j 
Of this the love-impassioned heart the fate ; 

Crushed and riven, it finds a wretched tomb. 
Or lives expiring on and desolate 

In its own desolation and its gloom ; 
Yes ! this the doom that doth the heart await. 

The heart that with its idol's blends its fire. 

Or with its idol fall — with it expire. 



A stunning voice hath pealed in Iza's ear 
A sentence deathful as the lightning's stroke, 

(That well had wrung from torture's self a tear. 
Or in the cold and flinty bosom woke 

A chord of anguish — pity — sorrow — fear — 
The senseless heart in such a bosom broke. 

If yet the lightning hath not lost its force. 

But flashes on still in its deathful course.) 



98 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV. 

XIV. 

"Far on the Grecian coast, in death^s cold arms 

Tlie pilgrim lover of fair Iza lies;'' 
In beauty's face, behold its withered charms ? 

From beauty's cheek, behold, the crimson flies? 
Yet see. Fate, imperious Fate disarms 

Its victim of its all — all a sacrifice 
To love is made — on its own altar made — 
And life and love in desolation 's laid. 



What hath she heard — list ! list! her lover's death ! 

List again ! 'tis but the voice of the winds. 
The gentle winds, that kiss her with their breath. 

As 'round her brow (white as the band that binds 
It with its coral and its flow'ry wreath) 

They play; no, 'tis not the winds ! that voice finds 
An echo in her heart, whose feelings stream 
And gush forth in the wild and maddened scream. 

XVI. 

On the winds the dread shriek died — and she stood 
As marble forms, all silent, pale and cold. 

Yet through each vein a sudden kindling flood 
Of pain, of with'ring torture lightning rolled ; 

Then like the clogged up rivulet, her blood 
In icy numbness the senseless moment told. 

And o'er her vision wild, and dark, and dread, 

A fatal gloom was in that moment spread. 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 99 



The trance was over — from it she awoke. 

That left its blight, deep, deep upon her sealed ; 

Nor yet her quiv'ring lip a sentence broke — 
No wild ungoverned word her doom revealed. 

But in silence received the fatal stroke 

That through each nerve in desolation pealed — 

Nor in her eye the drops of torture rose — 

The heart claims them in its extremest woes. 

XVIII. 

A ray of sense flashed on her throbbing brain. 
Torturing the soul with mad remembrance ; 

Her eye, whose light and lustre late was slain. 
Gazed round and round in wildness and suspense 

On all — as if perchance to meet again 

The form of him, who, as each gleam of sense 

Flashed on her brain, she but in memory saw ; 

He was not there, whom she was looking for. 



Nor yet she spoke — but sadly gazed around 

With cold, and wild, and with unmeaning stare. 

Shrinking and starting back at ev'ry sound. 
Winding her fingers in her tangled hair. 

That late with band of snowy pearl was bound ; 
Her visage changed ; ^twould now a moment wear 

The shadow of her soul — and now a smile 

Played on them bright and beautiful the while. 



100 H o P K I N s ' w o R KS . [Canto IV- 



And then she spoke ; it was a startling tone — 
Tuned by keen torture and by wild despair — 

And dying on the light winds as a moan. 
It shook those who were standing by her there. 

Who would have deemed the spirit wholly flown. 
But for the hue her visage then did wear. 

And who in mildest strain unto her spoke. 

But from her pallid lip no answer woke. 



To shut the deathful truth out from the brain. 
The trembling hand the bloodless temple bound. 

And held with wild compression, where the vein 
Had faded, nor more its purple course wound ; 

Convulsion wrung the quiv'ring lips in twain 
That fitful breathed a faint and mut'ring sound. 

The breath of torture — torture of the heart. 

Transfixed with torture's deep and deathful dart. 



The round sun flashed upon her pallid brow 
As forth she sprang with wildness in its light. 

Before it bowed as she was wont to bow 
As erst she done in sacrificial rite. 

When death, stern death crushed with unsparing blow 
Her kindred all — and left her in a night 

Of loneliness ; and lone, all lone she stood 

In her own hall, in lonely solitude. 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 101 



'Till he, for -whom her tender bosom bled. 
Redeemed her from her lonely solitude. 

And grew the joy of her heart, (to joy dead 
But late,) that oft his image fondly wooed 

Long ere to her beauteous isle he sped, 

Where nature with unsparing hand hath strewed 

Her myriad winning beauties, seen by the 

Hapless hero of my song, with fancy's e'e. 



Long ere he left his own, his native land 
To seek the image of his weening mind, — 

And found in one from nature's partial hand 

Perfective in her beauty — beauty but combined: — 

And who but late as beauty's gem did stand 
Before her idol there — in whom was twined 

Each tender thread of being and of life. 

And from whom sprung undying grief and strife. 

XXV. 

She rose and sought her lonely hall again, 

And, oh, God! tears, dread tears gushed from her eyes 

And streamed unwonted from the deep fountain 
Of the o'er charged soul — and its anguish dies 

A moment in their flow ; oh, could they drain 

The heart, love's own boundless ocean, where lies 

The fountain of its anguish and its pain, 

Her's in that moment had not flowed in vain. 
10 



102 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV. 

XXVI. 

Oh, tears for love, undying love ! could ye 

But quench love's own lightning fire of the heart. 

Then, then could ye that heart from torture free ! 
But brief tlie solace ye to it impart 

In its dark moment of extremity 

Of strife and deep anguish — love's bitter part 

When severed from its idol and its own. 

Its own in harmony of feeling deep alone. 



Her tears flowed — and flowing, soothed her crushed heart 
In its dread hour of anguish and of strife ; 

But soon, nor more their solace they impart. 
But left it with redoubled anguish rife. 

Doomed it still to brook a bitterer part. 
If yet in its brief day of ebbing life 

It more could brook; but they are dried, nor more 

The heart in tears its flood of torture pour. 

The Maniac's Song. 
1. 

And the heavens are hung 

In the black pall of night. 
For the sun hath been wrung 

From the realm of his light. 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 

2. 

And the sun hath burnt out, 
And the world is in shade, 

And his ashes about 

Like the mountains are laid. 

3. 

And the moon hath been hurled 
From the throne of her light. 

And all hissing was twirled 
In a fathomless night. 

4. 

And the stars lost their light 
In the blackness of day. 

And the breath of the night 
Hath blown them away. 

5. 

And the wind-scattered clouds 
Rot with poison and Wight, 

And their deep sable shrouds 
Are the wings of the night. 

6. 

And the winds in their might 
Hath been strangled in gloom, 

And the blackness of night 
Hath made them a tomb. 



103 



104 HOPKINS' W0RK3. [Canto IV. 

7. 

And the storm-spirits shriek 
As through heaven's black void. 

Insatiate they seek. 

What hath long been destroyed. 

8. 

And the lightning's red flash 

Out the heavens was hurled 
With a whiz and a dash. 

And in blight wrapt the world. 

9. 

And the thunder's loud crash 
Hath been broke in its might. 

With a wreck and a dash 
In its regions of light. 

10. 

And the angels on high 

From their holiness fell. 
And commingled their cry 

With the spirits of hell. 

11. 

The breath of corruption 

Hath poisoned all heaven — 
In the void of destruction 

Its spirits are driven. 



CantoIV.J ALBERTO. 

12. 

And the ocean was drank 
By the sun in his fall. 

And the deities shrank 
In their caverns of coral. 

13. 

And the earth hath crumbled 
Into poison and rust. 

The mountain hath tumbled 
Into ashes and dust. 

14. 

The heart of the lover 

Hath been gulfed in its sea— 

Oh, who shall discover 
Its deep agony. 

15. 

And the shriek of the maid 
Gave torture its birth. 

For lave hath been made 
To shriek in its dearth. 

16. 

And the maiden shall shriek 

In deep anguish and gloom. 
But in vain shall she seek 
For her torture a tomb. 
10* 



105 



106 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV. 

XXVIII. 

The rose struck from its parent stem will fade. 
And still retain its beauty while decaying — 

But its first freshness by no art is stayed — 

Nought can restore it — nought again can bring 

Its freshness and its beauty when decayed ; 
And leaf after leaf will lose when with'ring. 

Until the last the withered stem has left — 

So did she fade when thus of him bereft. 



She spake ; but oh ! her voice with grief was worn ! 

"^I wept and sorrowed when my parents died. 
And of my kindred one by one was shorn. 

And long it was before my tears were dried. 
Which stayed my heart when thus by anguish torn. 

But now that feeble solace is denied, — 
Unto my eye they will no more return, 
But in the caverns of the heart they burn. 

XXX. 

'*1 am not mad ! no, I but madly feel 
The fiery load of torture at my heart ! 

I would, that madness would upon me steal 
And shut the vista to the deathful chart 

Laid open to my heart and brain, that reel 
In torturing memory, ne'er to depart ; 

Come madness! thou pale herald of the tomb — 

Be thou my solace and my shadowy doom." 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 107 

XXXI. 

She paused — and there was wildness in her eye, 
A strange wildness and glaring of its light. 

That shook with awe those that were standing by. 
As erst they had been when they saw the blight 

Of Fate upon her fall — that left its dye 
Of desolation in the hue of night. 

The black night of the soul, where on no morn 

Of joy or hope again shall ever dawn. 

XXXII. 

And dark, oh, God ! how dark is such a soul ! 

The soul that beamed with love's own sacred light. 
Deep shadowed by the cloud of death, that stole 

(As with the stealth and silence of the night) 
Upon its morn of being, when in the stole 

Of hope, of fondest hope 'twas wrapt, that bright. 
Ail bright and beauteous beamed in it afar — 
For oh ! how bright to love is hope's bright star; 

XXXIII. 

That star has set — set in the void of death ; 

Nor more shall beam prophetic in the soul 
Of one whom love and hope had been the breath 

And being — of one, over whom still roll 
The wave of torture, (all love can bequeath) 

That feel and know, but know too late, thy stole 
The fire of existence in life's bright morn. 
Nor more on that benighted soul shall dawn. 



108 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV. 

Song of the Sorrowful. 

Oh, be my song of wildest tone. 

Of sadest minstrelsy. 
Since my heart is doomed alone 

To live from love and thee. 

2. 

Thou wert my joy — hope — love — my all — 

T knew no joy save thee — 
And none unto my heart can call. 

Since thou hast ceased to be. 

3. 

My heart in its young love was slain. 

Its love alone for thee. 
Who lives but in my aching brain. 

Thou more than life to me. 

4. 

Not long my heart in grief will burn. 

Soon, soon it will be free — 
Not long in mem'ry sad I turn 

To hours of love and thee. 

5. 

Soon, soon my heart all rent and crushed 

Will flee its misery — 
Soon, soon its throbbings will be hushed. 

To torture soon be free. — 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 109 



She lingered f(3r some days with a faint gleam 
Of hope, flashing at moments on her mind 

Like the remembrance of a long past dream ; 
But when no more with life it fondly twined. 

And ceased upon her throbbing brain to beam. 
And nought save dark despair was left behind. 

"I lived for thee, and for thee die, Mherto,^^ 

She said, and pierced her arm with his stiletto. 



She sate and gazed upon the purple stream 
Serene and calm -, anon a gentle smile 

Would kindle on her visage, as if a gleam 
Of joy broke sudden on her mind the while. 

More bright, and chaste, and beautiful did seem 
Than when from sorrow free she roamed that isle 

With him, in whom her world — her all was cast. 

And now for whom, her life was flowing fast. 

XXXVI. 

A footstep met her ear ; a moment more. 
And Alberto stood before her ! a wild. 

Wild shriek burst from her lips, and all was o'er ; 
He on her gazed, and saAV her dress defiled 

And crimsoned o'er with her own smoking gore. 
But knew not she was dead, and vengeful smiled. 

Deeming some other hand than her's had shed 

The blood he srazed on in that moment, dread. 



no HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV. 



He looked upon her with a swimming brain. 
Deeming alas ! the life drop had wholly run. 

And turned his eye away — and then again. 
Confounded and dismayed, turned it upon 

Her still, and strove from out his mind to strain 
A thought, a welcome, soothing thought, her sun 

Had not forever set : but from the clay 

The soul had passed, forever passed away. 

XXXVIII. 

Gently he lifted it from off the floor. 

With breaking heart, if human hearts can break. 
When all they loved in life is claimed no more — 

Nought, nought behind is left it, to slake 
Its feelings on like what it had before : 

Man in such moments will unknowing shake 
With an inward sense — a deep awe of soul. 
Which time alone, may quiet and control. 



The oozing gore dripped smoking on his hand. 
As from the floor he lifted up the form. 

And wept — oh, God ! who — who, can tears command 
In moments such as these! — who can quell the storm 

Of soul that grows within, when thus they stand 
And see the wreck of all, with feelings warm 

They cherished — feelings intense of the young heart. 

From one as fond, untimely torn apart. 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. Ill 



He gazed upon her as in death she slept 
With eye of sorrow, anguish and despair. 

And o'er his heart a blast all moanful swept. 
While he stood gazing on her then and there; 

Could he weep, he in that moment had wept 
The fall of one, so young — so fond — so fair — 

And who but late enshrined each feeling dear — 

Feelings of youth — all fervent and sincere. 



Still gazed he silent on her then and there. 
And felt the dearest link in life was cleft — 

The shrine of love — of hope — of all that were 
Dear unto him, he was forever bereft 

Of: and over him came a dark despair 
When thus he was alone and unloved left : 

He scarce could deem her dead — there was an air 

Of life-like freshness on her features, fair. 



First love is that pure kindling of the soul. 

Once Ht, can no extinction through life know — 

But lives on, (as stands the needle to the pole) 
Unchanged thro' time, thro' peril, pain and woe ; 

Nor will when wrecked, yield to its own control. 
But in its strength, itself will overthrow. 

Ere 't will survive its idol of the tomb. 

And thus will seek a like and kindred doom. 



112 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV 

The Words of the Dying. 
1. 

"My heaven of life and love is overcast. 

Since he, who was its sun hath ceased to shine. 

And on my heart the mem'ry of the past 

(And chiefly thine, who late was solely mine) 

In bitterness but gleam — too bitter to survive. 

Or hope in joy and love again to thrive. 

2. 

''And I will not survive thee, if I could. 
Thou fallen flower of my too fond heart. 

Where in despair and desolation's strewed. 
Nor future day again to it impart 

Existence like the past — oh, no, no more 

My heart can joy in what it joyed before. 

3. 

"No ! I will not survive thee ! there is nought 
Can heal the blight and canker of my heart. 

That with burning torture's been overwrought 
Since from the love of thine 'twas torn apart ; 

And thus in death its sorrows finds an end; 

In future day it still with thine may blend." 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 113 

XLIII. 

Love clings to hope ev'n in the hour of death. 

With a wild and supernatural grasp. 
And each from each prolong the ebbing breath — 

Thus united, together heave the gasp. 
And thus expire ; how bitter the bequeath 

To that human heart, wherein they did clasp 
And were extinguished — what can life be more 
Than torture's prey, stinging it to the core. 



Thus she fell — fell in youth — untimely fell. 
Unless for sooth, too soon she could not flee 

The dull load of mortality, to dwell 

Where hope points the way and virtue gives the 

Good assurance of peace — peace from the well 
And fountain of all Good — such shall be the 

Just heritage of virtue — such shall be 

Its due reward through all eternity. 

XLV. 

The cold dull earth wraps Iza's pallid form ; 

The eye is closed that beamed with fond desire 
And flashed the soul of her, whose heart was warm. 

Warm with love's holy feelings and its fire ; 
Oh, God ! what tortures in that heart must swarm 

When thus a sacrifice on love's own pyre 
That heart is made — thus making death its doom — 
Nor more survive its idol of the tomb. 
11 



114 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV- 

XLVl. 

A thousand feelings, bitter feelings wring 
The heart (that but in life with love respired) 

When severed from the idol of its being — 
Its idol — who, a sacrifice expired 

On love's own altar — a self-made offering 
In that dark moment when despair fired 

And anguish wrung beyond the point to bear — 

For what to love so mad'ning as despair. 



Oh, could the bright world glow without a sun, 
Nor heaven's brow be dimmed when from her throne 

The moon was hurled, her reign of glory done. 
Her soul had not been dark when set its own ; 

Then would her life and love have needed none, — 
In brightness from Alberto lived alone. 

Nor known, alas! the horror of that gloom 

When sunk its idol sun within the tomb. 



Oh, beauteous ! oh, loved anJ loving one ! 

How have I strung my harp to notes of woe, 
When of her world forever sunk her sun ; 

Was there no saving hand to break the blow 
That doomed the young — the beautiful undone ; 

The loved and loving here but sorrow knoAv — 
But feel the mad'ning sting when torn apart. 
And seek the tomb with crushed and shattered heart. 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 115 

XLIX. 

Life's sun but rolls in bitterness away 

To him who down before love's altar bowed 

In day of youth — in youth's impassioned day. 
And lives to see the promised seed he sowed 

Bring forth in bitterness to the heart — ay. 
In bitterness unto the heart that vowed 

Unto its idol — its idol's fondly twined. 

Twined, with its life-pulse — with its life combined. 



Oh ! dark is the soul of him who parted 
With the beautiful and young — in life knew 

Nor joy — nor aught — save what they imparted. 
The new made grave of Iza met his view — 

The grave that tombed his all — half broken hearted 
He on it gazed ; with tears he did bedew 

The cold fresh earth, piled on the pallid form 

Of her, who late, enshrined his feelings, warm. 

LI. 

He gazed, I say, upon the new made grave 
And wept in bitter anguish and in strife — 

The strife which doth each sense of soul enslave 
When death steals all — all that we loved in life ; 

And back the heart turns on itself, to crave 
Some token of those feelings fond and rife 

With rapture — with all — all, that love can yield — 

Crushed in life's tend'rest moment — in death sealed. 



116 HOPKINS'WORKS. [Canto IV. 

LII. 

With bleeding heart he lingered at the mound 
Which love and duty prompted him to build ; 

Why lingered he there ? was it to heal the wound 
Fresh rent — life again to the lifeless yield ; 

Hope to the sacred spot no more had bound. 
Whose crushed and fluttering spirit, all chilled 

And bleeding o^er love's own there, hopeless bent 

That out life's embers, life could yet be lent; 

Lin. 

And why is this ! why do we madly dwell 
Where all we loved in life hath ever fled, — 

And by lingering dig a deeper hell. 

Wherein to plunge the heart, 'til it is dead. 

Or dying — and shrieks out the mad'ning yell 
Of torture, growing in the mystic bed 

Of nature — which man strives through life to shun — 

And many there are, who do — but, not one. 

LIV. 

And long Alberto lingered at the tomb 

That shrined the form of her he loved too well ; 

And lighter far had been his grief and doom. 
Had not their first love's issue with her fell — 

This wrapt his spirit in a double gloom. 

And bade his heart with keener grief to swell ; 

For oh ! the lover's heart — brain — soul — sense, mind — 

AU— with the object of its love is twined. 



Canto IV.J ALBERTO. 117 

LV. 

And he had set his soul upon that child, 

And longing looked he to the hour of birth — 

He did liot deem the mother thus defiled 
In bringing forth love's issue ; if on earth 

Such deeds are sinful, they were not so styled 
By him ; he only felt that pain and dearth 

Of soul man feels when the dark grave hath closed 

O'er all he loved ; such death on him imposed. 

LVI. 

And yet must I on, though the theme be sad — 
And such now is my muse most prone to sing ; 

Such is best suited to the soul, once glad 
In the bright sunshine of life's joyous spring. 

Ere the dark unbroken cloud of years had 
O'ercast its noon with dismal shadowing. 

And veiled, alas ! forever veiled from view. 

Some objects dear, some hopes I'd still pursue. 



Too faithful mem'ry flashes on the mind 

And wakes the heart again to hours that flung 

Enchantment round existence — when it shrined 
The hallowed feelings of the fair and young ; 

What did the heart of youth and love e'er find 
On earth so deep and dear as woman's strung 

With affection fond — as fond — as pure, as warm — 

Wearing the same deep harmony of form, 
11* 



18 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV- 



Through time, but oh I how brief — nor e'er forsook 

The heart that to it with love's feelings clung ; 
Though torture — pain — and grief— and passion shook- 

Still to the last 'twas fervent as when young ; 
In likeness of the sweet lyre it partook. 

To ever new and sweeter notes 'twas strung. 
Until its tones were crushed — and in remembrance- 
Lives, yielding now the heart but sufferance. 



But I have wandered — wandered from my theme 
And him, the hapless hero of my song ; 

The beauteous being — the image of his dream 
Was imaged in her whom he had sought long. 

In whom he deemed, oh, how fondly did he deem 
To find that all — which but to love belong — 

Found and cherished — but how briefly cherished ; 

A day hath dawned — and past — and all perished. 

O'er Iza's mansion on that beauteous isle 
A death-like and a ghastly calm is shed ; 

Nor more is love there greeted with love's smile,. 
For love and beauty slumbers with the dead. 

With her, whose love and beauty did beguile 
The hero of my song — with sorrow dread 

Now is he doomed to mourn her hapless fall. 

And live the victim of his love withal. 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 119 

LXI. 

Long through its ancient and its many halls, 

(Where beauty dazzles and where wealth abound. 

Yet with a sense of desolation palls. 

For there the loved and loving are not found. 

Nor more again shall 'bide within its walls,) 
His footsteps ring with melancholy sound. 

And on his ear in echo back they fall 

With plaintive tone, a tone that doth appal. 

LXII. 

Yes ! o'er the mansion of the fair and young. 
The hapless daughter of that beauteous isle, 

A calm of ghastly melancholy's flung, — 
And desolation shrouds the ancient pile. 

Where love and beauty to its idol clung ; 

Nor more shall love and beauty there beguile 

As erst they did the hero of my song. 

To whom alone their memory but belong. 

LXIII. 

And sad Alberto gazed around on all 

The rehcs of the loved, the fair and young. 

As lone he stood within the echoing hall 

That oft with mirth and laughter loud had wrung 

Ere death its inmates one by one did call ; 
And to the memory of the last, he strung 

His harp to sad and plaintive strain, and paid 

The last sad tribute to the hapless maid. 



120 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV. 

To THE Memory of Iza. 
1. 

No costly urn adorns the spot 

Where Love and Beauty sleep ; 
No graven marble tells her fate. 

Yet Pity there shall weep. 

2. 

And there too Love shall lowly bend 

In homage to the dead ; 
And there shall Sorrow oft repair 

With melancholy tread. 

3. 

Memory shall oft that spot recall 

To him in after year. 
And feel that time cannot assuage 

The tributary tear. 



And oft to him in after year 
Shall mem'ry paint her form. 

And own that time cannot destroy 
Love's feelings, pure and warm. 

5. 

And Melancholy, Wisdom's child. 

Shall oft too there repair. 
When eve in purple pride shall reign, 

And summer skies are fair. 



Canto IV.] ALBERTO. 

6. 

And Hope too, most perfidious maid. 
Shall oft too there appear. 

With sable brow and tearful eye. 
To pay her tribute dear. 

7. 
But Love shall oft'ner there be seen. 

Shall oft'ner there be found. 
Whose hallowed presence there alone 

Shall consecrate the ground. 

8. 

Perennial blooms shall e'er adorn 
That ever sacred mound — 

Shall rear o'er her a flowry tomb. 
And spread their incense round. 

9. 

And o'er that ever sacred spot 
Shall moanful wave the tree. 

Which Love and Duty bade him plant 
To her sad memory. 

10. 

Pass soft ye ever murm'ring winds. 

And gently fall ye dews. 
Ye beauteous and perennial blooms. 

Your incense round diffuse. 



121 



CANTO V 



Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
Rase out the written troubles of the brain, 
And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff 
Which weighs upon the heart ? 

Shakspeare. 

Grief hath chang;ed me since you saw me last, 
And careful hours with Time's deformed hand 
Have written strange defeatures o'er my face. — lb. 



Nor long Alberto tarried on the isle 

That tombs the idol of his heart and vow — 

And none there is to greet him with a smile, 
A love-lit smile — and sorrowful his brow. 

For there beneath the ever sacred pile 

The mouldering form of Iza slumbers now. 

The hapless victim of her love, that doomed 

Her, early doomed her to love's wretched tomb. 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 123 

II. 

And there is nought to lure him longer there, 
Since there the loved and loving cease to dwell. 

Since there the young, the beautiful and fair, 
A sacrifice to love untimely fell, 

Nor more in life and love again shall share 

The hallowed feelings that were loved too well. 

Too well to shun the crushing blow of fate. 

Leaving the loved and loving desolate. 

III. 

No ! there is nought to lure him longer there : 
Yet lovely looks it in the light of heaven. 

To him whose soul is wrapt but in despair. 
Nor more may joy in what by love was given. 

For oh ! the heart but once in life can share 
Of love — but once in life by it is riven. 

And feels that dearth and desolation deep. 

When all it loved, in death forever sleep. 



And fhis is life — the life of him whose heart 
Is all tenderness and love — and whose mind 

Is as the lightning — framed to bear the part 

Of its own scathing fire — the shrine that shrined 

Its very torture, nor shall shun the dart 
Of dark remembrance of the fair and kind. 

The loved and loving, the beautiful and young. 

Whose fatal fall his soul with anguish stung. 



124 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto IV. 

V. 

And this is life — but life to such alone 
As feel existence in this state of being — 

Living the votary of whatever's thrown 
Around them of the beautiful, that cling 

Unto them with a feeling all their own — 
And feel and know that such alone can bring 

The sunshine of existence in this life. 

What though it end in darkness and in strife. 



Alberto had but little claim on life 
Until he saw fair Iza o'er him bend — 

Then with the tyrant grew a double strife ; 
Love gave a wish anew to live, that tend 

Alone to dull and thwart Death's threatening knife ; 
And thus through this strong impulse we contend 

And grapple for another tedious day. 

Before we turn again to kindred clay. 



And when this brief day is redeemed — regained, 
'^Tis but to tread again the common round 

Of life we trod before — still unattained 

That something — nothing — yet hath ever bound 

Man to life so strong — and thus still restrained 
In that which life had promised should be found, 

Man plods on unsatisfied, from day to day. 

Until death comes — his common destiny. 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 125 

VIII. 

And then, what then — what, what — beyond the tomb? 

Ye countless dead that strutted on life's stage. 
Where and what are ye ? what hath been your doom 

Since to the vision life hath closed her page 
That wraps ye deep in the eternal gloom 

Of death and darkness, which alone assuage 
The thousand shocks and ills of life's brief day, 
For death is but the balm to suffering clay ; 

IX. 

Where and what are the crumbling dead, I say? 

The dead ! the silent inmates of the tomb ? 
On ye hath ever flashed a conscious ray 

Through death's all boundless and eternal gloom. 
Bringing intelligence of life's brief day — 

The day that closed on ye, and shaped your doom: 
Ye sleep unconscious in your dusty bed — 
This reason proves, and nature speaks ye dead. 



Yet to mortality is lent no aid 

To look beyond the present and the past : 
Death by its silence a mystery is made. 

So deep — so fathomless — so still — so vast — 
Taking no aspect but that of its shade — 

Ldving but in the gloom wherein its' cast — 
Wearing a form all formless to the eye 

On which we gaze, and gazing, do but sigh. 
12 



126 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V- 

XI. 

Death to the dead ; — this nature doth proclaim 
In her eternal laws through all the mighty 

Whole of whatever is — and is the same. 
The same unchanged through all infinity ; 

Yet live the dead in story and in fame. 
Twining their names as with eternity. 

As did the immortal father of a land. 

Where sleep his ashes and his statues stand, 

XII. 

Yes ! America — freedom's far famed land. 
Boasts memorials of the immortal dead ; 

Fit emblems of her gratitude they stand ; 
Around a living glory seems to spread. 

And Fame, immortal Fame, her wings expand 
Far o'er the dingy ages that hath fled 

And yet to come — for shall they not renew 

The fame and glory of the mighty too. 



Yet what millions find but oblivion's tomb ; 

A dazzling glory blazed around them here. 
Whispered ambition, fame would be its doom. 

And Justice her memorials to them rear. 
Piercing forgetfulness and break the gloom 

That shroud the millions from the sable bier. 
Whose fame, if fame they had, no more is told, 
But slumber in oblivion, dark and cold. 



Canto V,] ALBERTO. 

XIV. 

1 say, what millions pass from life away. 

Round whom oblivion wraps her dreary shroud- 
Immortal fame's and glory's growing ray 

Pierce not oblivion's dark and triple cloud. 
Nor glory hymn their praise beyond a day. 

Nor justice in rewarding justice, loud. 
But like a meteor shrouded deep in gloom. 
Alone they slumber in oblivion's tomb. 

XV. 

Methinks the sacred ashes of the dead 

• Would stir with gladness and with holy pride. 

Knew they their fame was as the heavens spread. 

Circling creation round, as deep as wide. 
As thine, great hero ! who undaunted led 

The patriot band where tyranny would bide, 
But where the fane of freedom smiling stands. 
The sacred fabric of thy mighty hands. 

XVI. 

I may have hymned this hero's fame in vain. 
Since other hands hath strung the harp to fame. 

And raised to him, perchance, a living strain. 
To whom the welkin echoed with acclaim ; 

From out the mind each wish I would not drain 
Of its reward and heritage — a name ; 

Even in my country's tongue a voice find. 

And be remembered also with ray kind. 



127 



128 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V. 

XVII. 

But who hath found the fame he sought on earth ? — 
Yet more — while living, saw its just award. 

And shuned ambition's fever and the dearth 
That blighted hope had brought for its reward ! 

Death to renown but gives immortal birth, — 
The people's Saviour and the christian's Lord, 

The type of goodness — the Redeemer too. 

But tasted death, and thence immortal grew. 

XVIII. 

But now no more — for such is not my theme ; — 

And to the hero of my song I turn. 
The hapless victim of life's weening dream. 

Whose very mind hath made itself the urn 
Of dark remembrance and the thoughts that teem 

With mem'ry of the lost and loved, nor learn 
Forgetfulness in years — for oh, the heart. 
Must own remembrance as its better part. 



When of the loved and loving, unloved left. 
And shrine the ashes of each feeling dear. 

Dear to memory, since of all else bereft — 
Dear to remembrance and to love sincere ; 

The heart still bleeds that was by passion cleft, 
Nor e'er the eye forget it gave a tear, 

A tear to love, to beauty and to youth, 

A tear to sorrow, to anguish and to ruth. 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 129 



Alone Alberto treads the silent halls. 

That late, was love's and beauty's biding place- 
Whose very silence sadly now^ recalls 

The winning form, and beauty-beaming face 
Of her, the beautiful, whose beauty calls. 

Calls for remembrance, time may not efface. 
But live, as lives the life pulse of the heart. 
Though such remembrance now but pain impart. 



But wherefore linger — for the hour hath come — 
That isle must be deserted by him too. 

The isle where love and beauty found a tomb. 
Where sorrow's self bewailed the hapless two 

That fate had singled for a wretched doom : 
But, the anchor is weighed — and o'er the blue 

And bounding waters swift the proud bark flies. 

The isle far in the vapory distance dies, 

XXII. 

And lovely looks it o'er the shining deep 

With its green crest tinged with the sinking sun. 

Who now alone down heaven's azure steep 
His way he wends — and far and wide upon 

The ocean blaze a kindling flame, that steep 
In beauty all, and blends with twilight's dun. 

While softly in the ocean's giant arms 

The isle is slumb'ring with its thousand charms. 
12* 



130 HOPKINS' WORES. [Canto V. 



It is the hour, the beauty-winning hour 
That stirs the spirit with a sense of awe. 

With a mysterious feeling and a power 
Within to make man studious of the law 

Of nature, linked with a world, a flower, 
Or a mite, in all perfective still — nor. 

On her mysteries have I looked in vain — 

She made me worshipful, and shall again . 

XXIV. 

Yes ! again great Nature ! to thee I turn ! 

A worshipper of thee, of thee and thine — 
The mighty volume wherein man may learn 

Devotion and true wisdom of the divine 
Of all things — and by which alone we earn 

True recompense for such ; — if such be mine^ 
In vain it may not be, for it hath taught 
Me homage, and within devotion wrought. 



Ye shining heavens — sun — and ocean — all — 
Ye are my altars — before ye I bowed. 

And bow in worship of a God that call 

For worship — ye with myriad tongues are loud 

In homage and in praise to him withal — 
A feeling infinite within me crowd 

As on ye I gaze, teaching as ye taught 

A deep reverence that may not be naught. 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 131 



But now far o'er the restless waters glide 
The bark that bears Alberto from the isle 

Where all he loved in life of beauty died. 

Nor more shall love and beauty there beguile — 

No — no more its fair daughter and its pride 
Shall greet him there again with love- lit smile ; 

The eye is dosed in death that flashed love's fire. 

And cold the breast that heaved with fond desire. 



The grave- worm banquets on the crumbhng cheek, 
That late was tinted with the rose leaf hue ; 

The lips with blight and rank corruption reek. 
And on the pearly brow the grave-worm too 

Corruptive crawls and feeds; alas! how weak. 
How frail, humanity ! life's race half through. 

Death strikes the final blow — we fall — and r>mst ! 

Corruption now — and now — a heap of dust. 

XXVIII. 

What is man's might and wisdom at the best ; 

To what extent of nature doth he scan ; 
The eagle soaring from his cloud-built nest 

Outstrips the vision and the mind of man. 
And leaves him still, a wonder midst the rest 

Of wonders, scarce wiser at life's close than 
At its beginning — and then he goes — ivhere ! 
Ask philosophy — ask time — death — the air. 



132 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V. 



Go philosophy, and human wisdom ! go. 
Hold conference with death beside the tomb; 

There on the ashes of the high or low. 

Gaze ye, and call through death's all boundless gloom. 

That ye just knowledge of the dead, may know. 
And knowing, speak their destiny or doom 

To trembling millions here ; but they silent sleep ! 

Their mother earth, the ashes of them keep. 



Oh ! dark the mind, when hope hath ever fled. 
And left it in the midnight of despair ; 

Despair for love and beauty, ever dead — 
Despair for love, and beauty ever fair; 

This fills life's measure with a portion dread 
That poisons all its days ; and such but wear 

Even on the brow, the aspect of the soul. 

Nor time repay what death hath ever stole. 

XXXI. 

The sparkling waters round Alberto heave. 

And swift the proud bark cleaves her liquid way ; 

Soft on the giant brow of ocean eve 
Hath hung her purple pall — the less'ning day. 

Streaks faint the western sky with light, where cleave 
The lingering glory of the god's last ray. 

Who now hath sunk low in his shadowy light. 

And day resigns the reins to ruling night. 



Canto v.] 



A L B E RTO 



33 



What beauty wraps the scene; — soft twilight glows ; 

The tameless ocean in its beauties bathe — 
And heaven from her brow unclouded, throws 

A magic softness on the sparkling wave ; 
And now, far o'er the watery waste, hath rose 

The moon — and night, oh, night ! with visage grave. 
And silent tread, steals o'er the watery world. 
And soft her shadowy veil is far unfurled. 

XXXIII. 

What beauty wraps the scene ; faint in the west 
The dying glory of the day-god gleams. 

And now far o'er the ocean's billowy breast 

The moon in silence throws her sparkling beams. 

Plumes with her silver light the glowing crest 
Of heaven and of ocean — and all teems 

With divinity of beauty and of light — 

And with a dazzlmg glory, reigns the night. 

XXXIV. 

My soul is wrapt ! wrapt with the holy scene-^ 
And shouts within to God, enthroned in all ; 

In all, on which I gaze a God is seen ; 
A myriad tongues for homage on me call 

From heaven, ocean — all — and which hath been 
The holy altars and the shrine withal 

I bowed before in worship of that power. 

Throned in a world alike as in a flower. 



134 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V. 

XXXV. 

Night ! oh, glowing, ever beauteous night ! 

Where beauty infinite and God is throned ! 
God ! sole mysterious power — wisdom — might — 

By whom alone the boundless whole is zoned ; 
Robed in the pall of darkness or of light — 

In silence hushed, or when the thunder toned 
With fearful voice far through the storm-girt sky. 
And earth and heaven, trembling, made reply, 

XXXVI. 

I was a sharer in her either form 

Of beauty — may be, still. Soft slumbers now 
The spirits of the tempest and the storm — 

The storm that hung witli dreary pall, the brow. 
Of heaven — and the lightning, fierce and warm 

Streamed hissing through the gloom a fiery bow. 
When round this cape,* for tempests famed afar. 
But late, I saw ye fearful clash and jar. 



The morning dawns again, and blushes red ; 

O'er the still waters of the glowing deep. 
The early twilight now is softly spread. 

And growing day in heaven's eastern steep, 
A living charm o'er sky and ocean shed . 

The pilgrim-hero of my song, in sleep 
A vision saw of aspect strange and new — 
Of beauteous form, and oft of startling hue . 

* Cape Hatteras. 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 135 



He stood where storm-clouds sweep the mountain's broW3 
Where lurks the hot breath of the tempest strong. 

Deep in the earthquake-gaps and clefts below, 
And lives the pealing thunder loud and long. 

His hot and rending shafts doth hiss and glow. 
As forth they dart, and flash, and stream along 

The echoing chasms deep, from rock to rock. 

Until the giant seems to reel and rock 



With the wild fury of the tempest wild, — 

Yet reels th' giant not — but doth sternly mock 
The tempest in his strength — all rock-ribbed piled 

From his huge base he stands a blended rock 
Self-braced, by storms and ages undefiled, 

'^And laughs to scorn" the tempest's mighty shock ; 
And thus he stands with harsh and rigid brow, 
W^ith his tiara of eternal snow. — 



Then died the tempest with the closing day. 
And his wild vision took another form. 

The form of beauty and of life — far away 

The valleys smiling spread, o'er which the storm 

Had held a fearful but a harmless sway ; 

Around his temples played the light winds warm. 

While thus he stood and gazed where nature wooed 

With beauty soft, and silent solitude — 



136 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V. 

XLI. 

The solitude of silence and of night. 
And loneliness, as there he stood alone. 

High on the mountain's ever craggy height. 
And far and wide a living light was thrown. 

Thrown from the moon in heaven high and bright. 
For she had in mid-heaven 'rected her throne. 

And mount and valley with her glory blazed. 

And with wrapt soul, he stood and on them gazed. 



Heaven and earth is wrapt in silence deep. 
So deep, so vast, it strikes with awe the soul. 

For nature's self hath sunk to solemn sleep — 
But doth she sleep ? what stifled voice stole 

But now upon her silence ; what shakes the deep ; 
And yet, what earth-born cloud doth darkling roll. 

And shrouds in night the giant's icy brow. 

And smears and smuts his crown of fadeless snow. 



The trembling giant from his basement reels, 
And groans within — the waving valley heaves. 

As heaves the tameless ocean, when he feels 
The strong wind's force ; the manque shrieking leaves 

His stifled home — and nature's self reveals 

Her awful form, as with one stroke she cleaves 

And rends in twain afar the quaking earth. 

And to the earthquake gives eternal birth : 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 137 

XLIV. 

Nor is her mighty travail over yet — 

Her second birth is yet to come away ; 
The jostled ocean takes a livid jet ; 

Day hath dawned^ but, dawns like the judgment day 
In darkness deep;, and deep in darkness set. 

And double night resumes her rightful sway ; 
While deep convulsions moves the struggling earth. 
She gives deliverance to a fiery birth ; 

XLV. 

Yet, from her centre rolls the thunder loud. 
And from the chasm, darts his electric shafts. 

And forked and zig-gad pierce the ashy cloud. 
That far the rightful ones of heaven, laughs 

Away with scorn, and in their province crowd ; 
The flaming- chasm a hissing cascade quaffs. 

And forth a sulph'ry vapour now is hurled, 

And now, a gloom chaotic zones the world. 

XLVI. 

The daylight hour is come — but not the light ; — 
"The sun is in the heavens," but his rays 

Are gulfed and smothered in a triple night; 
And deep enveloped in a boundless haze 

All nature seems to shudder with affright. 
And with pirophetic awe to wait her raze 

Deep from the earth's inmost centre, loud 

The thunder peals, and streams a livid cloud 
13 



138 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V. 

XLVII. 

Convulsed, and whirling through the stifling air. 
Adds gloom to' gloom, tinged with the 'lectric flash. 

And now anon, a coppered aspect wear; 
And high in air, the earth unburthened dash 

A living flame — anon disjointed there. 

Rebounds to earth, and crumbles with a crash. 

And over the flaming gap the fire boils. 

That now alternate in the deep recoils. 

XLVIU. 

But in the earth the stunning thunder dies. 
Nor swift along the flash electric gleams. 

But with a faiat and stifled motion flies 

Now the gloom amidst, wherewith heaven teems ; 

And from earth's mighty chasm lessening rise 
The thick sulphurous clouds, and whirhng, streams 

Before the winds afar, and forth anew. 

The smiling brow of heaven springs to view. 

XLIX. 

And light again the mighty day-god brings. 
And tinges deep, the wide, unbounded haze, 

(The ghost of the departed gloom,) and flings 
A shad'wy radiance o'er the smoking raze 

Of nature, self- transformed where beauty springs 
Eternal and sublime — where, eternal blaze 

The self-fed flame, self-kindled deep in earth. 

Who to her ofispring gave eternal birth. 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 139 



The glowing bosom of the deep is still. 

Nor heaves alternate with the heaving earth 

As erst they did obedient to her will ; 

Of herbage far hath made a dreary dearth. 

As late, she Nature's mandates did fulfil. 
And gaping, gave her mighty burthen birth, 

That flames to heaven, and with flame illumes 

Her brow successive, and successive glooms. 



Around a thousand smoking mounds arise. 
And hem the giant parent in ; and far 

T he black sulphurous vapour, whirling flies 
From each ; and deep within, convulsions jar 

And shock, and oft, when nature, threatning plies 
Her force, and thus prolongs the self- waged war 

And lovely are ye in the light of heaven. 

Ye smoking mounds, from earth's bosom driven. 

LII. 

Ye crags, that overhang the ever limpid stream 
Leaping musically down from height to height. 

Whereon the sun hath thrown no welcome beam. 
But deep enclosed forever from his light 

Within the winding chasms dark, — ye seem 
To poise the mountain in his giant might ; 

Ye hath a power and a voice that's known 

To such as would commune with ve alone ; 



140 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V. 

LIII. 

Ye crags ! ye high and ever dizzy peaks ! vast. 
And beautiful, and bright, are ye to behold — 

And contain a power, (to me all fast 
In love and fondness for ye, ever bold 

And grand, though ye be rough and rudely cast. 
Though ye yourselves in shapeless forms unfold,) 

That lifts the soul above life's stagnant level. 

While thus alone, among ye, I would dwell ; 



Ye do lend me a spirit quick and new 
To make ye felt, while gazing on ye now. 

That mingles with your own j ye pierce the blue 
Of heaven high, and leaves the earth below, 

Man's dwelling here, perchance hereafter too — 
For what undoubted on earth may we know ; 

Yet hope, that mighty soother of mankind. 

Shall sooth him still, though mounts leave him behind. 



Ye mighty peaks ! bright are your crowns of snow. 
That blaze and sparkle as a living flame 

When on ye full the sun his light would throw ; 
Myriad ages pass — ye are the same — 

The same while kingdoms kingdoms overthrow? 
A habitation ye in the heavens claim — 

And such your home is, yet where speaks the storm 

With rending voice, and wears a fearful form. 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 141 

liVI. 

Ye ever beauteous — ever smiling vales. 
That bound the mighty ocean in his flow ; 

Where light, and life, and summer soft prevails 5 
Bright are ye in the sun-light far below. 

Nor wintry winds, nor tempests rude, assails 
Your beauty, though ye with eternal snow 

Are overhung, and 'round ye slides and falls 

The avalanche, that zones ye with his walls. 

LVII. 

Anon, his vision changed — nor stood he more 

Where mountains lift their hoary heads to heaven. 

And where nature her wildest aspect wore. 

Who with her hand the mighty earth had riven. 

And piled it to the skies — from her bosom tore 
The quenchless flame — and herself hath given 

Sublimity of form — form of winning cast — 

Of features rude, of grandeur, wild and vast. 

LVIII. 

And such I say, no more he gazed upon — 
Nor more upon these dizzy heights he stood. 

But where a milder beauty softly won ; 

With Iza now he stood — with whom he would 

Forever stand — with Iza, the departed one — 
Iza, the loved and loving — could oh, could 

A vision keep such beauty still on earth. 

Then earth to him had been nor waste, nor dearth. 
13* 



142 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V. 



Ye visions that imbody, and bring back 
The forms we loved and lost — and earth again 

Is bright and beautiful — ye do but rack 
And wring the soul at last with living pain ; 

'Tis past — he hath awoke ; the night hangs black 
And fearful o'er the bosom of the main 

Of waters — and^ now growing in his might. 

The storm sweeps wildly through the gloom of night. 

Song. 
1. 

"Through the fathomless gloom 

The thunder is ringing. 
And the storm-spirit now 

His ditty is singing 

In the voice of the winds. 

2. 
"And the thunder's red bolt 

Streaming hot from the cloud. 
Is the eye of the spirit. 

Whose spirit is proud 

With his own jubilant. 

3. 
"And the white waters bound 

And blend with the cloud, 
And is tinged with the flash. 

Of the thunderbolt loud — 

The joy of the spirit. 



Canto v.] ALBERTO. 143 

4. 

*^And the winds in their might, 

Higii tlie deep waters dash. 
And shattered and whirling. 

They rebound with a crash, 

To the spirit's delight. 

5. 

"And the wings of the night 

Are of blackness and gloom. 
And many shall find 

In the ocean a tomb ; 

And the winds toll their knell. 

6. 

"Still rolls the dark storm 

O'er the ocean along. 
And the spirit with glee 

Is pouring his song 

In the voice of the winds." 



The tempest hath departed — and the day 
Is brightly springing in the eastern sky. 

And o'er the restless waters, far away 

The early twilight glows and gleams — and high 

In heaven mounts the day-god's blended ray. 
That gilds the world with radiance from his eye. 

And far the gloom and shadow of the night 

Hath fled before his glory and his light. 



144 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Canto V. 

LXI. 

And days have fled and gone^ since on the sea 
The wand'ring hero of my song went last ; 

Nor longer on its bosom may he be — 
Its beauties fade — its perils now are past. 

And now his native country meets his e'e ; 
A thousand scenes before his mind is cast. 

That move the soul with feelings deep and dear. 

When thus his native land doth reappear. 



My theme here finds an end — the song is sung 
That fed the fancy of my youthful mind ; 

The many tones with, which my soul was striing 
Finds in my song a birth ; with it is twined 

The forms and fancies of my mind when young ; 
With it I part — I leave it with my kind. 

To live its day or long or short on earth ; 

Of my own mind and thoughts, it is the birth. 



DE]LA§(DIUSo 



PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. 



Delascus, 

Corello, the hierophant, 
Olieno, a peasant of the Andes, 
AUaria, daughter to Olieno, 
Romello, a philosopher. 
First Genius of Delascus, 

2(i do. do. 
Phantom of Zara, 
Ministers of the Universe, &c. 
Phantoms, &c. 



The scene of the Drama lies in the Andes, in the Castle of 
Romello, and the surrounding country. 



DELASCUS; 



A DRAMATIC POEM. 



You cram these words iato mine ears, against 
The stomach of my sense. 

Shukspeare. 

The sun is in the heavens, and the proud day, 
Attended with the pleasures of the world. 
Is all too wanton — lb. 

Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, 

And 2:iven my treasure and my rights in thee 

To thick eyed musing and cursed melancholy. — lb- 



Act I. — Scene 1. 

The Andes near Quito — a dwelling on a summit overlook- 
ing the city and the surrounding country. — Time, 
mm^ing. 

DELAscus. (alone.) 

Again with you, ye ministers and spirits of the 
Great Visible, but yet unknown,* I audience crave ; 
Ye hath obeyed my summons with despatch, and. 
Deigned from your 'bodes on high or low in the 

*From the diversity of opinion, as regards the Supreme Being, 
I am authorized in usins: the term unknown. 



148 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 1. 

Unbounded universe, to come, and what in 
Earth-bound mortal to commune — with one 
Who is not of your order nor your essence, to 
Hold conference, which knits me closer with ye. 
And, too, with the sole sovereign of the 
Universe — the Supreme of all. 

Most glorious and partial privilege- 
By mortal sought not, nor to mortal granted. 
Save me, who may undeserving be — but let the 
Fruits of such conference attest. 

Ye ministers and messengers of the 
Great Unknown — of Him, the mighty Sovereign 
Of whatever is, or was, or yet shall be — ye from 
The rosy clouds high hung in heaven's blue expanse — 
From out the golden air that crowns the day-god 
With a crown of gold — from out the light, the 
Soft light and the shadow of the moon, ye came ! 
Yes ! ye in your seats of glory and 
Of hght, the summons of a mortal heard, and 
Hearing, did obey. 

Ye are the organs of Almighty God — 
Proclaiming him through all the boundless whole^- 
And 'beisance give to him upon his throne — his 
Throne, the universe ! 

Ye do transcribe him on 
Creation's page, legible to all ; of him ye are the 
Source of all knowledge — ye rend the veil that 
Shrouds the mortal mind, and from the vision 
Drives obstruction off; mighty are ye indeed. 



Actl.j DELASCUS. 149 

Ye hath been my companions — 
And shall be again, since of my kind I reck' not — 
And, since ye oped new cells of knowledge and 
Of wonder, of wisdom deep beyond the world. 
Though ye confer not happiness withal. 

Yes ! again on you, ye ministers 
And spirits of God, the Father ! ye co-dominators 
Of the universe — guardians of its destinies 
And laws — of him the appointed, and him 
Service do — ye from your habitations dark and 
Deep, or from your 'bodes of brightness in the 
Skies, I call, — come forth — it is the hour, the 
Magic hour of morn, the hour when ye was wont 
To visit me, a thing of earth, of passions deep. 
That burden heavier my mortality — come forth — 
And speak ye to my soul ! [a pause. 

But ye come not ? 
The mighty sun o'ertops the verge of earth, and 
Springs beyond the horizon, and wraps his 
Crimson robe around the world ; and the day. 
The young day comes with gladness and with glee. 
And forth Creation pours her orisons— then come 
Ye forth, and speak unto my soul ? 

But ye come not ? 
Know ye not the voice of him with whom ye 
Conference held ; hath it so changed with him 
That makes its tone familiar not, and unknown 
To ye ! alas ! If it be so — but — or hath ye 
Like some of my kind perfidious grown — schooled 
To perfidy and sin — to human frailties — 
14 



150 HOPKINS' WORRS. [Act 1- 

To the long train of crimes on earth, on man 
Attendant evermore, since clogged with mortality, 
Bound and pinioned to dull earth ; nor more 
May be absolved from its contact, since Nature hath her 

laws 
Eternal made ; 

If ye in your nature be so foul — 
If ye are not distinct in purity, in essence and 
In order in the link all-infinite, but own a link 
Between ye and my kind, farewell ! for ye at 
Best would be a mockery ! 

If this be so, oh, God ! 
The load of my mortality is doubled, and the 
All-beauteous face of earth, a dearth and 
Desolation to the eye is made ; nor heaven less 
In gloom be palled ; nor have a spell upon 
My soul — nor m it throw a voice and a tone 
For homage audible, if ye be not what I '. 

Deem ; but your abodes speak your divinity ; 
Ye are his ministers. 

By the mind, the unshackled 
Mind of him who invocation for your presence 
Raised — by thoughts that wing their flight 
Beyond the stars — by passions good or evil, whose 
Habitation is the heart — the heart their home and 
Sepulchre — nay, by the power ye hath conferred 
Upon me, I bid ye give obedience to my summons — 
Now from on high descend, and from the depths 
Below, arise ! 



Act 1.] DELASCUS. 15J 

(A voice is heard in the distance, singing.^ 

FIRST MINISTER. 

From the distant realms of light, 
I've descended with a flight. 
Swifter than the lightnings flash. 
Or the thunder's stunning crash — 
Swifter than the rushing winds. 
Or the blazing light that binds 
Earth as with a girdle round, 
I my way have thither found. 

(T/ie voice ceases — a phantom appears.) 

PHANTOM. 

Mortal, say, what wouldst thou there ? 
Speak, thou thing of earth and air. 

DELASCUS. 

To find even here a fitting tomb. 

PHANTOM. 

That for thee 's an unjust doom. 

DELASCUS. 

Who, and what art thou. 

PHANTOM. 

I'm the wings of the night. 
And have lost me in light ; 



152 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 1. 

I am seeking the shade 
In the glen and the glade, 
'Till the sun rolls away. 
And swallows the day. 
Which is hideous to me. 

[The phantom vanishes. 

{Enter Corello, the hierophant.^ 

CORELLO. 

On whom or what does Delascus call. 

DELASCUS. 

On that which is unknown to thee and thine ; 
Which is untainted by contact with base earth — 
But pure in its own nature, essence, law and being. 
Away ! with such I would commune alone. 

CORELLO. 

I come not to offend, but do thee manly service ; 
To dissolve all conference 'tween thee and unearthly 
Things — things invisible but to minds diseased — 
Things of another order, being, fate and destiny 
To thine, which man on earth are forbid to hold ; 
I come to break the union of celestial habitants — 
Spirits that guard immortal spirits, (celestial 
JVow, because from mortal bonds and earth let 
Loose) and thee ; to wean the soul from its 
Mysterious purpose, and check thee in ambition's 
Mad career, that led and leads to sufferance — 
To save from madness and from misery — 
Nay, from thy very self to save, I come ! 



Act 1.] DELASCUS. 

DELASCUS. 

By what authority, 

CORELLO. 

That of the church, my office, and my rank. 

DELASCUS. 

The winds shall give obedience soon as I ; 

I heed the church, nor thee — 

Away, I say, thou loathed load of mortality ! 

CORELLO. 

Thou wouldst be famed for wisdom and for worth 
Beyond the span of human life ; and such 
My wishes most devout — a consummation 
I devoutly crave, nor may such be beyond the 
Reach of such as thee — but, beware of anger, — 
That corruptor of the soul, and shroud and 
Shackle of the human mind, whereby the path 
To fame is arduous made, and life is 
Poisoned to its latest span ; 

Thy warmth befits thee not — for anger is the breath 
Of shallow minds, nor doth comport with such 
As thee — of thee, we deem of better things, nor 
In such deeming may we be deceived — this 
Rests with thee ! 

I come not to offend — but give 
Thee counsel from experienced age — for deep 
The earnest of my soul for thee — and may 
14* 



153 



154 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 1. 

Be, I can aid thee much, wouldst thou an 
Ear to my counsel lend : 

DELASCUS. 

Most reverend, kind, and generous sir, I 
Humbly thank you for the earnest of your 
Generous heart in my behalf of good or evil 
In my days to come ! 

If you would counsel to 
Mine ear unfold, I pray you now proceed — 
For such I will defer all conference in the mean 
With my companions of the universe — proceed ! 

CORELLO. 

'Tis said the fever of thy soul for fame, hath 
Made strange breaches in thine intellect, and 
Will ere long, thy reason quite dethrone if it be 
Not allayed ; that thou dost hold strange conference 
With strange things — the forms and phantoms of 
A mind diseased, reeling, and wandering on its 
Way, in its own labyrinth, wrought and thrown about 
It by ambition's hand, the which must end in 
Sufferance deep, if it be not forsook ; 

Thy aim, like the aim of all 
Of human kind, is happiness — happiness in this 
Life, and, beyond the tomb withal ; 
Desert the path of fame, for that of happiness 
And virtue — for virtue can alone award it thee? 



Act 1.] DELASCUS. 155 

DELASCUS. 

The last of these I had, and yet may have — but. 
Of the former I am devoid, even to the seed 
And elements ! thy speech or counsel will avail 
Me nought, most reverend sage, if such its tenor 
And its tone but be ; and here, I would spare thee 
A waste of Avords on such as me — turn them 
To better 'count — they can avail me nothing — 
But if thou wilt so honour me with thy presence 
Here again, thou shalt be welcome at my humble 
Home. 

CORELJLO. 

Fain will I give compliance to your will. 

[Exit CORELLO. 
DELASCUS. 

Brightly springs the young day into being — 
And the sun, the eternal sun, the bright eye 
Of the Sovereign of infinity, looks down on 
Earth, the fresh and smiling earth, that 
Greets him with its beauty and its light. 
And hymns eternal praise to him, the mighty 
Sovereign of whatever is ; 

Ye heavens, and 
Thou earth, the common mother of my kind. 
Where is the charm and spell with which ye 
Bound me — Avhere the beauty and the tone 
With which my soul was wrapt — no more 



156 HOTKINS' WORKS. [Act 1. 

I joy in you as I was wont, ere on me ; 

Dawned the day, the day that swallowed up * 

My all — and left me even a wreck within myself. 

My soul hath fed and famished 
On itself! and with vain hope to satisfy, still ; 

Feeds unsatisfied — still from insatiate 
Hunger, a double famine breeds, till all within 
A barrenness is made — a desolation and a 
Dearth of soul. 

The leech is still upon my days 
That sucks out all I recked of from my youth— 
And, on — on the current of existence Hows 
Unto the ocean of eternity, and leaves me void 
Of what I sought and seek, nor may in life 
Obtain— since— oh, withering thoughts, why 
Crowd ye on me now the truth that maddens 
Me — the non-redemption of the loved and lost. 
Away, despair ! my breast shall be no more 
Your 'biding place ! and come thou bright eyed 
Maid — thou prop and stall' of man in his 
Despair ; it may not be too late — and so 
From hence I will be firm and trusty in the 
Future, and in thee. 

[Exit. 



Act 1.] DELASCUS. 157 

Scene 2. 

Another view of the Andes — Delascus aUme. 
Time — siniset. 

DELASCUS. 

The day doth close in beauty and in peace— in peace 
To all save me. 

My invocation I resume — 
Yet why, since they, my wooed companions of 
The universe obey me not. Alas ! hath ye forsook 
Me, and withheld the oracles of God — shut 
The source of knowledge unto him and of 
The universe : ye gave me power these to 
Comprehend, and sense and passions to enjoy ; 
A voice to hold converse with ye, and in 
Song give utterance of ye and the universe — 
The realm of ye, and him whom ye obey. 

Alas ! to herd again with men, ye 
Doth decree me, and to look again on earth, 
On all — all with human eyes. 
Yet will I on ye call, and longer pause 
Your coming. 

Thus again, on you, mysterious spirits of 
The universe — of the all-infinite above, below. 
Around, my voice calls; ye hath obeyed it 
Oft, obey again — for ye henceforth, shall 
My companions be; now by the charms with which 
Ye are endowed, and the unfading beauty 
Of your forms, come forth, and speak unto 
My soul ! [He pauses. 



158 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 1. 

Alas ! hath ye forsook me too — ye 
Loved messengers of him^ the Father. 
From your 'bodes or high^ or low, or deep. 
Ye came ! come again! 

From your seats 
Through the all-infinite of his domain, ye came ! 
Come again ! from where the sun in highest 
Heaven gleams with a hallowed and a 
Living light, ye came ! coixie again ! 
From where the moon, oh, beauteous moon — 
Thou pale, melancholy orb of night, to whom 
The lover and the mistress sigh, and woo 
Thy shadow and thy light to seal their 
Vows with thy divinity of beauty and of light. 
Throned in ether high, and bathed in light 
Ineffable, ye came ! come again ! 
From where the stars, the lesser, but prophetic . 
Orbs that mould and shape the destiny of 
Man, hang in the light of your own glory 
High, ye came ; come again ! 
From the infinity of constellations ye did 
Come ! come again, ye from your sev'ral 
Seats, and speak unto my soul. 

{A meteor is seen in the distance,) 
Beauteous spirit of air, tell 
In what region dost thou dwell. 

SECOND MINISTER. 

Where the thunder cleaves the cloud. 



Act 1.] DELASCUS. 159 

Leaping 'long the heavens loud — 
Where the storm-spirit rides on fire^, 
Gath'ring in his fury higher ; 
Where the hissing lightnings play. 
Or in silent slumber lay. 
And the winds tumultuous clash. 
Leaves ling'ring long the stunning crash ; 
Where the hurricane has birth. 
That sweeps o'er the trembling earth ; 
But He the whirlwind can subdue. 
Or bid the storm his rage renew — 
He holds the lightnings in his hand. 
And stays the storm at his command ; 
The winds obedient, to his call. 
Sudden to soft zephyrs fall ; 
Where the rainbow spans the sky. 
There is fixed my mansion high — 
But in thought thou may'st ascend. 
To where now my way I wend. 

DELASCUS. 

Beauteous form of heaven, slay. 

Nor leave alone a thing of clay. 

But it hath winged its flight to heaven back. 

Where man but hopes to go. 

My invocation I resume ; 
Ye spirits and ministers of infinity, from 
Out the cold and flinty bosom of the earth. 



160 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act I- 

Ye came ! come again ! [Shock of an earthquake. 

THIRD MINISTER. 

Deep in the bosom of the earth, 

(Which is thy legitimate mother,) 
Where the earthquake has birth. 

And volcanoes never smother ; 
Where the cavern scoops his way. 

And 'rects his bituminous halls. 
There I linger night and day, 

'Mong his myriad dewy walls ; 
Where the beds of bismuth mix 

With the volcanic flame, 
I my habitation fix — 

There I my dwelling claim. 

DELASCUS. 

I in fancy and in thought. 

Oft thy distant mansion sought. 

MINISTER. 

Why wouldst thou, helpless mortal, seek 

My habitation dark and deep; 
What is it to thee, or thine ! speak ! 

What canst thou from it reap ? 

DELASCUS. 

A knowledge and a joy known 
To those who seek them alone. 



Act 1.] DEI, ASCUS. 161 

MINISTER. 

None of all the mortal race 
Hath ever sought my dwelling place ! 
Why shouldst thou seek it — say — 
Thou helpless child of clay. 

DELASCUS. 

To gain a knowledge and a power. 
Which shall be my earthly dower ; 
Which shall live (though I be dead) 
With those that after me are bred. 

MINISTER. 

But they will perish, one and all — 
For all that's mortal, soon must fall 
Beneath the stroke of Time ; all decay 
As all hath done in former day. 

DELASCUS. 

Shall they and I forever be 
The heirs of non- entity ; 
Shall the link of being break 

That binds in one the mighty whole, 
And Death f the victor, left to slake 

His thirst on Life from pole to pole, 

MINISTER. / 

The Law of JVature doth decree 
Death to all humanity : 
Time shall cut them down like grass — 
51 



162 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 1. 

And all from life to death shall pass ; 

All that is of human mould. 

Death in his cold arms will fold ; 

Thee and thine shall pass away. 

And all that is of human clay. 

I am not of thy essence — nor 

Must bow Hke thee to nature's law 

I am but a principle. 

And therefore, am invincible ; 

Death o'er me nor mine hath power — 

To be eternal is my dower ; 

Me nor mine can death enslave. 

But reign triumphant o'er the grave ; 

Earth-ridden thing, farewell — farewell ! 

I may not longer with thee dwell. 

DELASCUS. 

My invocation I resume — and 
Call up spirits from the mighty deep, and 
Confront them as I done of erst. 
Ye spirits ! from out the dark waters of 
The mighty deep — from ocean's fathomless 
Abyss, ye came ! come again ! 

(^A water spout is seen at the extreme end of the stage.) 

THIRD MINISTER. 

Thou thing of earth. 
Why call me forth 
From out my halls 
Of watery walls j 



Act 1 ] DELASCUS. 163 

Where I dwell, thou canst not dwell. 
Deep "^midst coral, rock, and shell ; 
From the deep, unfathoraed sea 
I on lightest pinion flee — 
There upon the coral bed, 
I with softest footstep tread ; 
My mansion is of flood and shell — 
Where I with my twin sisters dwell ; 
1 can the ocean's waters stay. 
Or bid them with the lightnmg play ; 
From their slumber, I can wake 
Them, 'till the distant shores shake, 
*Till the mountains loud resound 
With the echo round and round. 
And their rocky basements lash, 
'Till they crumble with a crash ; 
Where I dwell, thou canst not dwell — 
Child of clay, farewell — farewell ! 

DELASCUS. 

My invocation I resume! 
Ye spirits and ministers ! from out the watery 
Bow that spans the heavens, ye did come! 
Come again ! 

{A cloud is seen to rise at the end of the gallery.) 

FOURTH MINISTER. 

Where the cloud on golden bed. 
Is seen to rest his liquid head ; 
Where the scorching lightnings play. 
And the storm in slumber lay j 



164 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 

Where the moon her soft light throws, 
And the sun eternal glows. 
Is my habitation high. 
Thither now alone I fly. 

DELASCUS. 

Ye beauteous spirits that deign to dwell 

With me on earth ! from where the pale light 

Of expiring day blends with the shadow at 

The birth of night, ye came ! 

From out the clouds, bathed in the crimson 

Of the sinking sun, ye came ! 

From out the storm-cloud, when earth trembled 

With the thunder's voice, and nature with 

Convulsions gasped and rolled in blackness 

With the storm along, ye came ! 

From out the cells of darkness and of night — 

And the lone realms of silence and of 

Solitude, ye came ! 

In the loud voice of the wrecking storm, and 

Low whisper of the restless winds, ye came ! 

From the deep bosom of the wilderness, where 

Nature her primeval form retains 

Unsacrificed to art, nor defaced bv man 

To feed his avarice, ye came ! 

From the bleak summits of the snow-crowned 

Andes, where the storm finds birth and vent 

At once, resounding hoarse through rocky clefts. 

And gaps, and chasms deep and dark. 



Act 1.] D E L A S C U S . 

That echo back the voice of the storm. 
Ye came ! 

On the first beam of dawning day. 
That parts the veil of darkness and of night. 
And heralds the coming of the day-god forth, 
Ye came ! 

In the red flash, and fire of the storm that 
Sweeps with darkness through the cloud- wrapt 
Skies, and the answer earth to heaven 
Gave, ye came ! 

From out of nature's soft repose, and realms 
Of silence deep, ye came ! 
From the pure fountain of divinity, birth place 
Of love and holiness, ye came as in the 
Softness of a zephyr's breath, and breathed it 
On my soul — the heart vibrated with its 
Tone, and throbbed as with the life pulse of 
Its joy, and thrilled the soul with rapture 
Deep and dear — but alas ! what hath that 
Heart been since that hour — the hour that 
Wrung its idol from its core, and left it 
Bleeding with a healless wound, nor power 
On earth to staunch and stop the same ; 
There is no voice for its pangs — nor to 
Its bitterness a note ; alone it lives in bitterness. 

Ye ministers and spirits of the 
Universe with whom I conference held, and 
Yet again would hold — of whom I have alone 
Companions made ; when in the stole of 
15* 



165 



166 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 2. 

Inspiration wrapt, and the restless soul of him 

Who on ye calls, a voice found in homage 

Deep and dear, ye came ! come again — for 

By the torture that hath wrung it long, and 

Its own waste and desolation deep, I do call 

Ye from your several ^bodes — nay, by the 

Power of whatever is, I do command ye 

Re-appear, and with it commune! — 

[A pause. 

DELASCUS. 

Alas ! ye scorn my bidding and my wishes mock ! 
Well, be it so ! Pll pause your coming '^till 
The morrow's dawn, and feed my spirit on 
The night, the beauty and the silence of the night. 

[Exit. 

Act II. — Scene 1. 

A valley — a habitation on the left hand, a cataract on 
the right — Time, midnight. 

DELASCUS. 

The pall of darkness is upon the world ; 
Night expands her sable wings afar, and 
Silence, her twin sister, universal reigns ; 
The snow-cap peaks of Andes o'er me hang. 
And seem toppling from the dingy sky. 
Nor by the wings of night are wholly hid. 
But as a cloud above the earth they hang. 
To greet the vision through the gloom of night. 
The air, the thick air of the night, is stifling. 



Act 2.] DELASCUS. 167 

Hot, and foul, and phantoms seem before 
My eye to skim ; amidst the dearth of 
Life I seem to stand, and yet the sweet 
Tone of a voice I knew and loved — 
Loved, and oh, God ! 

Loving — heard 

(A female figure appears on the brink of the cascade.) 
What beauteous form 

Breaks on my vision through the gloom and 
Shadow of the night ; whom hath sorrow 
Driven from the couch, and makes companions 
Of these wilds, of silence, and of night. 

FIGURE. 

Why talks Delascus to the gloomy night ; 
Hath sorrow driven slumber from his eye ? 

DELASCUS. 

Oh, speak a£,ain — for ne'er did ear drink 

So sweet a sound as that of thy sweet voice ! 

If this be earth on which I stand — thou 

Art the loved and lost from death redeemed — 

And which shall be my souPs redemption too — 

For in thee, or in the type of thee, rests all my fate. 

FIGURE. 

The power thou hast o'er me, might give me power 
O'er thee, but not to aid beyond this life. 
For such alone must rest with each on earth. 



168 H O P K I N S ' W O R KS . [Act 2. 

DELASCUS. 

Go on fair saint, or whatsoever thou art, or was. 

Or is to be, unfold thy mission be it good or evil 

To my soul, which but withers in itself; 

Thou art not death, for death ne'er wore such 

Beauty in its face ; nor art thou life, for life 

Hath fled with beauty to the tomb; 

Speak ! who, and what art thou that doth shadow 

Forth the winning beauty of the dead 

Which hath deformed the face of things 

Unto my eyes ! made even hideous all it 

Left behind for me to look upon, nor less decreed 

The heart a double dearth that shrined the living 

Beauty of the dead — the dead, forever loved, forever 

Lost — nor may be more redeemed. 

If of earth thou art a habitant, and come 

To 'front me with an evil aim, proceed ; 

For I defy and champion all on earth to harm 

Or hurt the soul of him who speaks that 

Was of woman born, that wears the form of mortal f 

If from heaven thou hast come with tidings 

Good or bad, proceed, for such to me the same 

Is, and may be through all the future too, for 

Man but deems of things beyond this life ; 

Or if from hell thou art a messenger, proceed. 

And make thy mission to a mortal known. 



Act 2.J DELASCUS. 169 



Mortal ! the fiat of thy genius has gone forth ! 
Yet thou may'st hope ; 'tis vain to tempt thee 
More with beauty here, since all is dead that to tliine 
Eye was beautiful ; nor the love of what is 
Beautiful on earth can more avail thee aught. 

DELASCUS. 

In what or whom is lodged the beauty thou 
Art speaking of? 

FIGURE. 

Even in a mortal, as thou art. 

DELASCUS. 

And would I were not ; but, go on. 

FIGURE. 

'Tis vain, since mortal beauty tempts thee not. 

DELASCUS. 

And well, since with it I was poisoned deep ; 
Beauty, stern beauty lured me to her arms, ' 
Wherein the serpent, the rank serpent coiled. 
That stung my soul, and poisoned all 
My days. 

(^ cUmd envelopes the figure, and a phantom springs up 
where it stood.) 

What strange forms beset my startled eyes to-night ? 
What art thou that waves me silence with 



170 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 2. 

Thy pale and shrivelled hand — whose form 
Do wear the aspect both of life and death — 
Whose eye doth glare with supernal light ; 
Even as the eye of her, but late entombed 
Unto my own it looks. 

Speak ! who, and what art thou ! 

PHANTOM. 

The phantom of the dead ! 

DELASCUS. 

Alas ! immortal shade ! what from hell or heaven 
Drove thee forth again to earth, the loathsome 
Earth ! why a wretched mortal here confront ! 

PHANTOM. 

To know his doom ! 

DELASCUS. 

'Tis writ by death upon my brow — 
And by death alone must be erased — read 
It there, if such to thee is legible. 

PHANTOM. 

That I may not. 

DELASCUS. 

Then hear it in the future when it shall be passed ; 
When the future shall have gulfed the present 
And the past, read it there. 



Act 2.] D E L A S C U S 

PHANTOM. 

DELASCUS. 



171 



Enouffh. 



But wherefore visit'st thou me 1 
Let thy mission now unfolded be ; if aught 
Thou hast for mortal here on earth. 
Proclaim it now ! 

PHANTOM. 

That may not be upon 
The moment done. 

DELASCUS. 

Whose shade or phantom may'st thou be. 

PHANTOM. 

Of one whom thou didst love and kill. 

DELASCUS. 

My bones are marrowless ; my flesh do creep 

And jerk upon the same ! the hand of death 

Hath seized my stifled heart ! 

Away, black tyrant of the tomb, away ! 

Nor yet I am thy prey — but will be anon ; 

By all the tortures of unfathomed hell. 

My eyes shall glut themselves upon the shade 

Of her I loved and lost, before I am a 

Willing prey of thine ! 

Oh, all-beauteous and immortal shade ! 

What power didst burst the portals of thine 



172 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 2. 

Prison-house, and let thee forth to look 
On such as I ! what angel hand, oh, ever 
Sacred and immortal shade, didst unbar 
Thy sepulchre, and set thee free ! 

PHANTOM. 

The immortal spirit of the love of her whom 
Thou didst love and lose, nor may redeem ! 
I have come, come from the realm of blessed 
Immortal souls to look again on thee, nor could 
There remain in peace without. 

DELASCUS. 

Oh, eternal and unfathomed love that triumphs 
O'er relentless death, yet finds no home, nor 
Peace in heaven, but from thence to earth again 
Must come in quest of it ; why wert thou born 
To immortality ; why die thee not as died the 
Clay, the crumbling clay that shrined thee ; why 
Wert thou made a bliss on earth, a pang beyond 
The tomb. Alas ! most sacred and immortal shade. 
Is this the doom of her the loved, the beautiful ? 
And thou, oh, death ! that so transmute the form 
Of her that was in life so beautiful, thou hast 
Gulfed it in thine own deformity to blast the eye of 
Him that looks upon it now ; a hideous waste of 
Beauty thou hast made, which mocks the eye and 
Withers up each sense within, and 



Act 2.] DELASCUS. 173 

PHANTOM. 

Peace, Delascus ! 
Brief must we be ; the time is almost come to 
Waft me back again beyond the world ! nor more 
The spirit of my love may stir the dust and ashes 
Of my form to fit it for a flight again to earth ! 
The assumption of a form is lent but once unto 
The soul to quit the region death to it assigned ; 
But once the spirit can the clay resume to journey 
Back to earth, and thence are sundered, fifal and 
Eternal ! 

But once the spirit of my love can re-iilume 
The crumbling clay, wherein 'twas lodged, and 
Shadow forth in pale and dingy figure of 
What was — the guise unto it granted thus to come 
On earth again, and thus commune alone 
With such as were in life unto it bound. 
Bound by the tie of its divinity — but severed as 
It hath been, and again must be 

DELASCUS, 

But beyond the tomb a union find. 

PHANTOM. 

Such has not unfolded to me been. 

DELASCUS. 

But, may in the future be. 

PHANTOM. 

I know not that. 
16 



174 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 2. 

DELASCUS. 

Then was I born to be 
The prey of hell within my breast ; alike in life 
And death to be its prey — and live, and feel, and 
Know but this forever ! 
I then have fed my soul with hope in vain. 
And live to feel it crushed within me thrice ; 
And deemed in vain to find in death what 
Life denied ; must love be punished but by its 
Excess — its depth — and its divinity ? so let it be. 
If such the will of what hath power to punish ; 
Ay ! so let it be, yet would I not despoil from 
Its infinity to save it from the doom by such 
Decreed ; 

Yet would I not deface its sacred form — the 
Form it wore on earth, and yet in heaven may. 
For its redemption from a dark decree, nor 

PHANTOM. 

Delascus ! 

DELASCUS. 

Immortal shade ! what is thy will or want. 

PHANTOM. 

Back to my allotted 
Doom I haste, nor more from thence return ; 
The term of my sojourn on earth is spent — 
And now its bounds again I leave — forever 
Leave — farewell ! 

[It vanishes. 



Act 2.] DELASCUS. 175 

DELASCUS. 

I have no breath to 

[He sinks down insensible. 

( The voices (f his Genius is heard in the direction where 
tJie phantom stood.") 

FIRST GENIUS. 

The sentence is past. 
He withers at last. 

SECOND GENIUS. 

Again he shall spring 
From his deep withering. 

FIRST GENIUS. 

The heart is its slave. 
Nor more may it crave 
The dead from the grave ; 

SECOND GENIUS. 

Yet shall it sever 

Its cursed bonds forever. 

FIRST GENIUS. 

The soul shall be dark. 
Nor in it a spark 
Be kindled again 
To burn up its pain. 

SECOND GENIUS. 

Nor long shall such be 
Its dark destiny. 



176 HOPKINS' W0RK3. [Act 2. 

FIRST GENIUS. 

The light of the eye 
Shall wither and die. 
Nor more from it roll 
The light of the soul. 

SECOND GENIUS. 

It shall kindle again. 
Though torture and pain 
Hath smothered its fire — 
It shall not expire. 

FIRST GENIUS. 

The spirits own fire. 

With torture shall tire — 

And poison to death 

With Its own cankered breath. 

SECOND GENIUS. 

Again 'twill rejoice 
In the tone of its voice. 
And key it again 
To its own winning strain ; 
While the sun shall glow 
And ocean shall flow — 
While mountains shall rise 
And blend with the skies. 
While tempest and storm 
Shall wear the dark form. 
And blend with the night 
Their magic and might. 



Act 2.] DELASCUS. 177 

Within it shall fling 
A breath and a being ; 
To these will he turn. 
From these shall he learn 
A knowledge and power 
To sooth in each hour. 

FIRST GENIUS. 

It shall loathe the light 
And shudder at night. 
And wither in blight. 

SECOND GENIUS. 

The beauty of all 
Shall again on it call. 
And give it a tone 
That yet shall be known. 

FIRST GENIUS. 

My curse shall be on it. 
Nor shall it inherit 
A breath or a tone 
To sooth him when lone. 

SECOND GENIUS. 

That curse shall depart 
From spirit and heart ; 
Again he shall be 
Redeemed but by me. 



16 



[Scene closes. 



178 HOPiCI^'S='WORKS.' [Act 2. 

Scene 2. 

A cottage at the foot of the mountain — Olieno, Allaria, 
and Delascus. — Time, mid-day. 

DELASCUS. 

I say the hour is past — the hour of redemption 
And of peace — of fame, renown — all, all that 
Man may seek, but seek in vain, and be 
The fool of what he grasped at with a 
Giant's might, and found it formless as the 
Formless winds, and variable. 

OLIENO. 

But thou mayst hope ! 

DELASCUS. 

She hath played but a perfidious part, Unked 
As she was with death, and gulfed the 
Promise she herself had made. 

OLIENO. 

Alas ! we can but pity thee. 

DELASCUS. 

1 need it not — for such avails me nought; 

What are human sympathies to me — 

Or favours, hopes, or wishes of my kind ; 

What power have they when higher powers fail 

To fill the measure of my quest. 

I will expire as I have stood and stand. 

Aloof from all my kind. 



Act 2.] DELASCUS. 179 



I fear the rumour of 
Thy madness is but true. 

DELASCUS. 

Be it so. I would I were, nor then would 

Feel the hell within I do, but having it, to it 

Still be insensible. 

Teach rae that which will make me mad, that 

I may live dead to madness, and to that 

I may not shun — that I may live not 

Knowing that I live to know that she 

But, why parley now with words, they are but 
Idle breath, and do but tend to fret the soul 
Anew, and recall what once a charm and spell 
Upon me had, but which was broke, and left me 
But to loathe what once I loved. 
Things on which I look and did commune 
With, take the hue, the deep hue of my own dark 
Mind ; and the unwelcome aspect of my thoughts 
Tinge all around, until they stand loathed 
And loathsome to my sight ; the charm which 
Nature had bestowed on them — the inherent 
Beauty which they did possess, I see no 
More — but in their place a shapeless form, 
A wreck of what was beautiful, that 

Mock me with its ruin and deformity, and 

Did ye not hear a 
Voice, a sweet voice floating on the winds 



180 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 2. 

But now, whose tone was as a dying echo's — 
But ye did not, nor may, for such was breathed 
For me alone, being I am compounded not 
As ye, and strung with senses like to none. 

Friend of my race, or whatsoever thou 
Art, there was a day, yea more, months and 
Years, when I did look out on the world, the 
Bright and joy giving world to all save me. 
And drank in its beauties and its charms, till 
I grew dizzy with the same, nor deemed 
That such would pall upon my sight ; the 
Mighty storm, the sunlight and the shade, the silence 
Deep, and soothing loneliness of wood and dale. 
Where nature wooed me with her freshest charms. 
And to my soul a language spoke that weaned 
It from the world, and made me all her own ; — 
The night, the all-beauteous and soul- winning night. 
Convulsed with tempest and in blackness palled. 
Or glowing with divinity of light, and in deep 
Silence hushed, within my soul a sacred influence 
Threw, and made me thoughtful of her beauiy and 
Her charms — her silence deep — her tempest black 
And wild, had e'er upon my soul a willing spell ; 
The foaming torrent and the mighty deep, the sky. 
The eternal sky with robe of azure soft, and 
Fitting so each sense, that man hath named it 
Heaven, where he deems the soul may rest in peace; 
The mighty mountain, whose bright and dizzy 
Peaks are robed in clouds and tower to the 



Act 2.] DE L AS C U S . 181 

Skies ; the green fresh plain and beauteous vale. 
The early twilight of the eve and morn, the glowing 
Day, the voice of the winds — all — all, upon me 
Had a spell, a deep voice for my soul in other 
Days, that rolled away, as rolls the mighty sun 
From heaven's brow, and leaves the world in night ; 
I say the charm is broke that these things had, and 
Made a wreck and ruin of all v/ithin, that 
Clashes with itself, and with its desolation wars. 

[Delascus leaves abruptly. 

ALL ARIA. 

He is a genio of no common 
Grade as men have deemed him long before ; but. 
His mind is jarred 'twould seem by the acuteness 
Of itself — by its own fire it is deeply scathed, and 
Wars but with itself 5 his *portment too, do speak 
Him of an order high — most manly is his 
Bearing to my eye, that well might win the most 
Unwilling heart, for there is much in him that's 
Of a winning kind — I hope he will return — but — 

OLIENO. 

Ay, but — in sooth I 
Hope he never will return, for he is crazed. 
And rumor hath not lied. 

ALLARIA. 

He may not be ! I 
Hope to look on him again, for he hath made 
Upon my heart 



182 Hopkins' works. [Act 2. 

OLIENIO. 

Poo ! fudge ! come along '? 

[Exeunt. 

Scene 3. 

Another scene of the mountain — Delascus, alone — 
Time, sunset. 

DELASCUS. 

I feel the term of my sojourn on this, my 

Mother earth, is brief; and what the future 

Shall unfold, can be but in the future known ! 

Even the present is in darkness wrapt so 

Dense, that man may dare not hope to pierce — 

Though he for wisdom far '^bove all is famed ; 

Yet, I have not pondered it may be in vain on things 

That well might call me here to ponder on; 

I see but matter round me daily fall, and waste 

Away into a formless nothing as it seems, but, which 

Is again restored and transformed — again 

Returns a form unto the eye, most palpable ; 

To me, the thing called death, but wears the form 

Of change — eternal change — which is the life of 

All ; and thus do all things triumph over death, — 

Nor nature made him victor of herself, but in 

Her wisdom made him as he is, a thing of change — 

Deformer and transformer of herself — destroyer and 

Restorer of herself; ay, this is death, though men 

Have deemed him victor over all ; ay, this is 



Act 2.] D E L A S C U S . 1 83 

The ''^King of Terrors" and of change, on whom men 
Gaze J and gazing, shudder with affright ; and 
Why \ he doth but strike ye with a harmless 
Blow to dust and ashes — to be from thence 
Transformed anew — from thence another/orm 
To take — another being to assume from thence ; 
Is there aught within to make ye shudder at 
This law divine, which nature hath a safeguard 
Made herself — which nature hath enacted for her 
Bein^ and existence j yet in such do man find 
Much to '^give him pause' — and how ! let him 
Who thus have found it make reply — for 
Such must rest with such alone, being they 
Have found it and I not, and therefore 
Have no fitting word to dress it in. — 
The hour is past for the redemption of what hath 
Been lost on earth, but not past for conference 
With the forms invisible from out the universe 
I called, and will again ; for what companions 
JVow so fitting are, though they do not confer the 
Thing I ask, nor may confer it ; yet will I 
Have what best may fit my soul ; 
Ye beauteous and mysterious guardians of 
The mighty whole ! ye wondrous ministers of 
The universe, come forth ! — 

MINISTERS. 

What wouldst thou have ? 

DELASCUS. 

Redemption — redemption from myself! 
Confer but this, I ask of ye no more ! 



184 HOPKTNS' WORKS. [Act 2. 

MINISTER. 

We are the soul and spirit of the universe. 
Nor power have o'er what is mortal ; nor 
Formless less to mortal eye — invisible to all ; 

DELASCUS. 

Make me then the genius of myself, that 
I may shape my destiny. 

MINISTER. 

Nor that may we grant. 

DELASCUS. 

Then ye can aid me not. 

MINISTER. 

Not in what thou askest. 

DELASCUS. 

Can ye not tear the mask from nature's face, 
That I may read her every lineament — 
The universe unveil, that I may knowing 
Look on its wonders and its mysteries ! 

MINISTERS. 

Behold its beauties. 

DELASCUS. 

Ye do mock and baffle me ! — If ye answer 

Not in oracles of Him, of ye, and of 

The universe, nor name the fate of him 

Who called ye for these things, ye have but come 

In vain. 



Act 2.] DELASCUS. 185 



MINISTERS. 

We answer but according 
To our knowledge. 

DELASCUS. 

Then since it is your 
Province not to do the thing I ask, confer on 
Me the thing I've sought in vain, the boon 
Of happiness, that I may be not what I am, 
A hell within myself! 

MINISTERS. 

It is even in thyself. 

DELASCUS. 

Alas! ye answer but as do my race ; it is not in 
Mine elements, or 1 had known it else ; 
But may I not die. 

MINISTERS. 

Thou mayst, but still eternal be — 
For man by death 'scapes not eternity. 

DELASCUS 

Then was I born to know but that I be. 
Ye may depart, for ye can aid me not. 
The spirits deign to dwell with me on earth ; 
Prom their supernal seats on high — from the 
Fathomless abyss of ocean — from earth's dark 
Impenetrable womb they come, and with me 
17 



186 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 2. 

Commune, but confer not happiness withal ; 
On me they have bestowed no oracle, nor by them 
Answered me, nor oped new cells of wisdom 
And of knowledge, nor conferred the boon of 
Happiness, but left me as they found me, in 
Its dearth. 

I've pondered on the universe. 
Which taught my heart a reverence deep — a sacred 
Impulse gave the soul to hymn aloud its song 
Of praise and glory high, and bowed me down 
And worshipped the great God. 
From out the realms of knowledge I have sought. 
But sought in vain a quiet for the soul, or that 
All-nameless sense within, which finds no rest in life. 
But wars eternal with itself. 
Me to cells and solitude I took to 
Shut myself out from myself, to stay the impetuous 
Current of my mind, and there with nature's 
Laws familiar grew, who lent me oracles these 
To comprehend — who oped her mystic pages to 
My mind, until her mysteries all by it was grasped ; 
But this filled not the measure of my quest, the 
Q,uest the restless soul but craves on earth 
To sooth the spirit in a blessed repose. 
Penance and contrition purchase not the boon 
Of peace unto the heart, the heart that struggles 
With the fatal past, the past that gulfed 
What may not unfolded be on earth. 



Act 2.] D E L A S C U S . 1 87 

What more than a feverish dream is this detested 
State of mortal being to him who is a thing 
Of passion ! to him who wears the form of 
Mortal here, but who, in mind is to some higher 
Order close allied, and feels a longing with 
The same to blend ! whose spirit^, lodged in a 
Breathing mass of clay, of mortal clay, scooped 
From the earth by nature's hand, and shaped 
And fashioned into man, with passions infinite. 
Which jar eternal with the mortal shrine. 
Oh, spirit oi mine, or that ail-nameless something 
Deep within me lodged, which clash and war 
Eternal with itself, and makes this breathing 
Flesh a living nerve that quails and withers 
At the myriad shocks that flesh is heir to in 
This state of mortal bondage here ; that feels 
The yoke, the chafing yoke of dull mortality. 
Nor the same may shake ofi" and be free. 
And blend and mingle with an order, a higher 
Order, whose habitation is beyond the earth. 
And whose order is a fitting one, unshackled 
By mortality, nor wear the chain, the galling 
Chain this mortal state and dull being impose ; 
Thou all-nameless something deep within 
This breathing clay a habitation finds, and with 
It wars, who called from nature's realm all 
Infinite, her spirits for companions here, nor 
Less to learn of her mysterious laws — 



188 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 3. 

With them to weigh man in the scale of nature 
Just — to canvass o*er his fate beyond the tomb — 
From them to wring his form of destiny — with 
Them to rend the veil that shrouds the 
Future deep from mortal sight — with them to 
Hold death up before the eye, and knoAving 
Scan his every lineament — with them to learn 
The destiny of things, to ope the pages of 
Eternity, and knowing read the same ; but 
They conferred scant knowledge of these 
Things, nor brought a quiet to the restless soul 
Of him who called them from their realm all 
Infinite ; yet shall the spirits my companions 
Be, though they may not reveal forbidden things. 
Nor grant the boon of happiness. 

[Exit. 

Act III. — Scene 1. 

The castle of Romello — a hall in the same — Del as c us, 

CoRELLO, and Philosopher — Time, twilight. 

DELASCUS. 

I tell ye, even in my green youth, I did moralize 
Qn most mysterious things, and from them wrung 
Most startling truths ; with deeper logic in my 
Wavering youth than those whose heads were frosted 
O'er with age, I probed and scanned death and 
Eternity, and from them gleaned the destiny of man 



Act 3] DE L ASCUS. 189 

With death alone deep in the midnight hour I 
Conference Iield, and from him learnt the laws 
Of life and death, which were summed up in one 
Eternal Change, which is the life spring of the universe. 
Spirits from out the realm of God all-infinite 
I called to learn of them concerning him, and bowed 
Me down with grateful soul before the universe. 
His throne, which is my altar, and shall be — the 
Holy shrine on which I ojffer praise alone to him. 
I did confront strange forms and phantoms, the phantoms 
Of the loved and lost, whom death did rob me of — 
The phantoms of the young, the beautiful of earth. 
Whom death as with a puff swept from its face. 
And left the world to me a hideous waste, and 
Doomed the heart that shrined them in its love. 
To bleed in bitterness, and decreed the living soul 
A doom too deep and dark for mortal ear to hear. 

Had I not loved her, she had not fell from 
Virgin purity — in moral worth she had been lessened 
Not, but in its scale as high as ever stood ; 
Had I not loved her, she had been hving yet, a 
Thing of beauty, love and innocence ; had I not 
Loved her, she had not felt a pang this side the 
Tomb, but lived as in the stole of bliss on earth ; 
Had I not loved her, I too had 'scaped the pangs 
That wither me — and that cursed thing called 
Conscience, had haunted not my soul, nor found 
Within my breast a biding place ; had I not loved 
17* 



190 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 3. 

Her, my days had not been poisoned as they are. 

Nor on my soul the seal of guilt been set, but which 

Hath been atoned for — which in mortal love hath 

Expiation found, and so redemption gained ; 

Had I not loved her, she had not slept within the 

Tomb so young, but lived in joy, and given joy to all ; 

Had I not loved her, she by love had fallen not. 

Nor I atonement for her death had made, made 

Through love, the medium left for such alone — 

And which I feel hath cleansed my soul from all. 

But left the heart in life to wither on. 

Nor find a green spot in its wretched waste ; but 

It hath borne and still may bear the burden 

Of its fate, the fate 

Her death, her wretched death, on it imposed; 

But she hath past, past in youth, in beauty and 

In love from life to death by means most strange, and 

Most joul the world would call them too. 

CORELLO. 

Oh, wretched youth ! why destroy that which thou 
Didst love— the loved and loving why consign 
To death, eternal death ? well may thy days be 
Dark and wretched in this life ; who shall know 
Peace with such a load of sin upon his soul. 

_ DELASCUS. 

Peace, reverend sage ! my soul from sin is free. 



Act 3 ] D E L A S C U S . 191 

CORELLO. 

How. when the price 
Of blood is on thine head — the blood of her whom 
Thou didst slay, and 

DELASCUS. 

Peace, I say, thou 
Babbling mass of withered clay — thou crumbling- 
Thing of frail humanity ! what dost thou know 
Of me, or of my deeds ; ill springs not from good — 
Nor crime from love, though Hfe expired by it ; 
I but say I loved and lost her, lost her by death — 
That of the thing I loved, by death was robbed. 

PHILOSOPHER. 

Then thou didst not slay her with thy hand. 

DELASCUS. 

She had ^scaped death had she not crossed my path. 

CORELLO. 

Dark and mysterious are thy words, unhappy youth ; 
Pray the Redeemer pardon to thy soul — redemption 
Through the blessed Redeemer seek. 

DELASCUS. 

Unto a higher power Pd appeal for pardon and for 
Peace, if such on earth my deeds called for ; 
Penance and prayer is mockery to the guiltless : 
They befit alone the guilty soul ; I make them not. 
For such I say, is mockery without sin. 



192 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 3. 

CORELLO. 

Who from sin is free that slew his kind, and what but 
Prayer and penance can redeem ; to the most High 
We'll mingle now our prayers with thine — kneel down ! 

DELASCUS. 

Never ! 
That which is within commands me not — nor tJiat which 
Is above, the sovereign sole of whatever is. 
For penance call. 

CORELLO. 

For the sake of thy polluted soul, bow down before thy 
God, and Him the Son and Saviour, that thou mayst 
Redemption through him seek, and seeking find. 

DELASCUS. 

Never ! with that which is mine order upon earth 
Before the throne of God I bow not — nor a mediator 
Make of him who is of mortal race ; though 
Condemnation be upon the clay, the breathing clay. 
Wherein is lodged a spirit infinite, I'll bow not down 
To one, nor, with one of my race. 

PHILOSOPHER. 

Deluded mortal! spurn not the counsel of the wise! 

CORELLO 

Be thou reconciled, Delascus, to the church, and 
Make peace through it with him who is the great 
Foundation of the same, — come, kneel with me. 



Acts.] DELASCUS. 193 

DELASCUS. 

I tell ye — ye of a mortal and deluded race, your 
Altar and your idol is not mine — to such I will 
Not bow, nor hang the tenure of my soul on such ; 
Bowed I not doAvn before mine own full oft ; 
Yea ! in desolation and despair, I bowed 
Me down and kissed the dust from off the bosom 
Of my mother earth, and poured my soul in homage 
Out to God, the living God, who is my idol and 
Shall ever be. I heed the church nor thee. 

COKELLO. 

Deluded and blasphemous son of man. 

DELASCUS. 

Ay ! of man ! of that deluded and blasphemous race ! 
Would I were not, but of an order fitting most 
The restless spirit lodged in this gross clay. 
This mortal shrine, Unked eternal with mortality. 

The hour is come — the midnight hour, when 
I must conference hold with holy forms invisible 
To man — with shapes and things to man impalpable. 

CORELLO. 

Alas! thou self-condemned and lost one of our race ! 
Yet to save thee will I not despair, but still avouch 
For thy redemption through the power to save. 
Delascus, list to me. Thy spirit hath been deemed a 
Tameless one, and as the winds of heaven, restless ; 
Unhke the spirit of thy race, is thine, else thou hadst 



194 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 3. 

Not communed with fearful things, nor sought 
The silent charnel house of death to reap forbidden • 
Knowledge of eternity ; nor hadst thou probed the 
Depths of nature vast^ and wrung mysterious 
Wonders from herself; nor hadst thou with unholy 
Things conferred, with mystic forms and shapes. 
Which thou art said to call from out the universe — 
With spirits that dwell as in the dark abodes of 
Death, and line its valley with their shadowy forms — 
With these I say, thou hast familiar grown ; 
The world is rife with rumour strange of thee, and 
Of strange forms with which thou dost converse ; 
And men do look on thee with wondering eyes, and 
Murmur 'mong themselves of ill to thee ; 
I tell thee have a care, for they do speak in terms 
Of wrath and vengeance, and thy life may be 

DELASCUS. 

Not in their hands ; poor babbling fools, I do 
Defy and spurn them all. 

CORELLO. 

The wrath of them is of their envy born. 

DELASCUS. 

Be it so — I say, I do defy and spurn them all; 
Shall mortals shake the soul of him who did 
Confront the phantoms of the dead, and gazed 
Unmoved on most unearthly things ; who called 
Up spirits from the host of spirits, and canvassed 



Acts.] DELASCUS. 195 

O'er in the midnight hour^ death and eternity ; 
Who wrung forbidden secrets from the same, and 
Pondered on the destiny of things most dread — 
Most dark and hideous to the human soul. 

CORELLO. 

Mysterious being ! confer with these unholy things 
No more, but blend thy spirit with one of thy 
Race, and interchange the joy of love with her — 
Love and be beloved by 

DELASCUS. 

Thou frail and withered thing of earth, what canst 
Thou know of love ; avert the thought, forever 
From my brain, for it hath made a wreck of 
All within. 

The day hath past when I did gaze on 
One with eye of strange idolatry — and she was 
Young and lovely, chaste and wise, and with 
Her being close was wound my own ; but of whom 
I was forever robbed ; whose sacred spirit wars 
In heaven still, nor by death escaped the pangs 
Of that mysterious passion of the soul, which 
Is the bane of her in heaven, and of me 
On earth ; which stirred her sacred ashes in 
The tomb into the shadow of a form, and 
Came a ghost unto me. 

CORELLO. 

Man of dark thoughts, forbear, for such would 
Startle back an anchorite ; they are but phantoms 
Of a mind diseased by passion and deep 



196 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 3. 

DELASCUS. 

Nay, by love's own divinity and its mysterious power 
O'er the flesh, death, hell and the grave, her sacred 
Ashes stirred themselves into the shadow of a form. 
And came a ghost unto me through its divinity alone. 
And that eternal spirit in it lodged, which makes it 
Heir to eternity. 

'Dread and prophetic spirit that art within me !' 
Mysterious herald of her own! Lo ! behold it 'bodied 
In a phantom's form. 

[A phantom appears. 

CORELLO. 

Alas ! I do — and fain 
Would flee its presence, but cannot ! 

DELASCUS. 

Thou love winning spirit. 

May I deem to inherit 

A life beyond this 

Of joy and of bliss. 
Thou tortured thing of heaven, speak to this condemned 

clay ! 
To him Avho loved the form wherein 'twas lodged — 
To him who was a victim of it made — speak ! oh, speak 
To him who made an idol of her sacred form ! 
Thou fadeless fire of the crumbled clay! thou breathing 
Spirit of death-polluted flesh ! eternal champion 
Of death and the grave, oh speak to him who thus 
Do conjure thee. 



Acts.] DELASCUS. 197 

I have grappled with the destinies to wring from them 
Confession of thy doom ; but they did mock and 
Scoff my pious quest, and shocked the cold 
And silent ear of night with startling yells. 
Flattery, that base expedient of my race and 
Musty organ to the human will, I next did 
Tempt them with, but this unction had no charm 
On them, speak thou to me! 

My eye hath wandered o'er the heavens in vain in 
Search of thee ; in the voice of the formless winds 
Mine ear did list intelligence of thee ; in the 
Echo of the dying storm that sprang from out 
The bosom of the deep, and feed and famished on the 
Elements, I tidings of thee sought ; the tender 
Ear of silence I did greet even with the voice 
Of my restless soul, to find in her the herald of 
Thy doom; the mysteries of life and death I 
Scanned with frenzied energy, and did probe 
Them to their mystic depths, but all in vain. 
Speak thou to me ! thou mysterious phantom of 
The dead, speak to him who thus do conjure thee! 

CORELLO. 

It is silent, nor will answer thee. 

PHILOSOPHER. 

It is ethereal, nor will answer what is not. 

DELASCtJS. 

Then will I call ethereal aid. 

18 



198 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 3. 

PHILOSOPHER. 

Nay, pause thee, 'twill give reply anon -, but. 
Of whom Delascus, may this phantom be ? 

DELASCUS. 

Of Zara, if my prophetic soul do 'bode aright ; 
Who was all beauty to the eye of him that gazeth 
Now upon its mockery ; to him, who is a thing of 
Clay, that withers in despair, yet dares to champion 
Death and human fears ! 

Immortal spirit of the beautiful ! thou mysterious 
Wonder of the tomb ! thou pale habitant of heaven. 
What hath called thee back again to earth ? 

Phantom ! mock me not with silence thus. 
Nor spurn the wishes of a vengeful soul, lest 
Its wrathful curse upon thee be ! mortal as I am, 
I will not brook the insult of a holy thing ! 
Speak, nor longer with thy silence woo my curse. 
Dost thou come to 'venge her death on me ? 
Is not vengeance satisfied ? Look upon me, upon 
The wreck and shadow of what was ; a living mockery 
Of the fatal past ; youth shuffled as by magic into age 
With lightning speed, even by the hand of destiny 
Most dread 5 dost come, I say, to be avenged 
On such, then strike the blow of vengeance 
Deep as death, and glut the spirit of the vengeful 
Dead ; strike thee, I say, upon a bosom wild. 
Wild as the lightning blasted heath or 
Shivered oak, where throbs a heart that 



Act 3.] DELASCUS. 199 

Champions still the worst ; where breathes a 
Spirit infinite in passion and in sense^ 
And hath dominion and a spell on things 
That are the co-heirs of eternity, nor quails 
Beneath the phantom of the dead, nor 
Wriths but with its own infliction through its 
Sense and feeling infinite, whicii from it 
Springs, and which, shall perish but with life. 
Phantom, I do defy thee. 

[It vanishes. 

CORELLO. 

How pale thou art, and tremulous withal. 

DELASCUS, 

Mortal ! the tide of hfe is ebbing in me 
Fast, but my spirit is calm as is the 
Calm-bound sea, or cave-imprisoned winds ; 
But here I would not die ; no, in these 
Dingy walls let my race not end, but in 
The temple of the mighty God that decks it 
With his presence ; bear me hence unto the 
Mountain's brow that mingles with the sky. 
And where pause the cloud of heaven in the 
Truce of elemental war — where it is rent 
Asunder in the stormy flight, and shivered 
In the conflict fierce, and rolls disjointed 
Through the echoing void, and whirls convulsed 
Far o'er the giant's brow; 
Ay, bear me hence unto his mighty peaks 



200 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 3. 

That frown upon the earth, the dingy earth. 
And claims a habitation in the skies ; they 
Are lamiHar to mine eyes, for they did greet 
Them in my infancy, and wooed my spirit 
With their grandeur vast, and won it with 
Their own sublimity ; an eagle spirit they in 
Me did plant to make my home where makes 
The eagle his, and, as proud and fearless tread 
His dizzy brow ; ay, there, and there alone. 
Will I expire. 

CORELLO. 

Nay, talk not thus Delascus, the hour of 
Dissolution is not come ; and fearful is the 
Struggle of the young with death, and doubly 
Awful to the unprepared, to him who is 
Not sanctified by grace, nor cleansed from 
Sin with the Redeemer's blood ; pray the 
Redeemer intercede for thee, and thus make 
Peace with heaven and with thee. 

PHILOSOPHER. 

Wouldst pray, Delascus, kneel with our 
Holy father, even now. 

DELASCUS. 

Pray ! for what. 
Good senior, thou dost wonder me. 

CORELLO. 

For pardon, and deliverance from the doom 



Act 3.] D E L A S C U S . 201 

That doth befall the sinful in eternity ; 

Art not warned of this, even by the spirit of 

The dead, the dead who perished by thy 



DELASCUS. 

Hold, holy father ! thy words are idle in the 
Ear of him to whom all mortal aid and 
Counsel is as nought ; 

Go, speak thou to slaves and usurers, the pampered 
Things of folly and of crime, the sickly 
Nurslings of vile art and indolence — 
Go, I say, speak thou to them, I need it 
Notj and let slaves and usurers too, the 
Cringing things of avarice, the lean and haggard 
Votaries of gold, which is their idol and their God, 
In human habitations die, the free and bold 
Should die not thus, but 'mong the giant 
Forms of nature, the eagle's home, and. mine. 
And there on nature's bed, like him, let me 
Expire . 

FIRST GENIUS OF DELASCUS. 

Mortal, come, the sand of life is trickling now 
Its last — thy span of being is closing uponearth — 
Thy numbered days by nature's just decree is 
Closed, and deem thee not to cancel her decree ; 
Come! 

DELASCUS. 

Whither! 

18* 



202 HOPKINS' WORKS. [Act 3. 

GENIUS. 

To death — the grave. 

DELASCUS. 

I know it, but not yet. 
Nor by thy summons will I go. 

GENIUS. 

Mortal, why cling thee still to earth. 

DELASCUS. 

The link of nature is not severed yet, and 
That were all-sufficient still to bind. 

GENIUS. 

Ye destinies, come forth. 
And wrench from the earth 
A mortal that's loth 
To meet his just doom — 
The grave and the tomb. 

( Divers figures surround him.) 

DELASCUS. 

Back, fiends and monsters 7 ye shall be baffled 
In your fiendish aim ! I interdict and 
Cancel your decree j I do defy and scorn 
Ye all! 

With foes more dread I did contend than 
Ye, even when the flower of life was half 



Act 3.] D E L A S C U S . 203 

Expanded, and to earth's myriad 
Charms and beauties I was wed, that bound 
Me with a spell all-infinite — but which 
Is severed, and all things pall upon my 
Sickened eyes, and yet ye see, I heed your 
Summons not ! away, ye baffled mockeries 
Ot your aim — I say, I do defy, and scorn 
Ye all. 



Break the grasp of this reluctant mortal 
From the earth ? wrench the haughty worm 
From the dust unto his destiny and doom. 
(IVie second genius ofDelascus rushes in, in the figure of 
a female, and kneels beside him. He falls.) 

SECOND GENIUS. 

Ye fiends and destinies, this mortal 's mine ! 
I do co&pel ye by the will, the potent will. 
Of whatever is, retire ? 

[They vanish. 



END. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



STANZAS. 
I. 

The last star of Hope has gone down 
Beyond the dark verge of despair. 

And Fate with stern triumph doth frown 
On the ruin and wreck that is there ; 

Yet out of the wreck shall be reared 

The vision which love hath endeared. 

2. 
Out of the wreck and ruin shall spring. 

The image of all that has perished. 
And back to the soul it shall bring 
. The vision of all that it cherished ; 
For still in the blackness that palls. 
The voice of thy love on me calls. 



206 HOPKINS' WORKS. 

3. 

Yes ! on my dark spirit it calls. 
And breaks the dread gloom of my soul 

From the dearth of the past it recalls. 
And tempers the wave that still roll 

O'er the wreck of each hope that was dear. 

And tells me thy spirit is near. 

4. 

But the soul it can ne'er redeem 

From torture and pangs it would flee ; 

It cannot make placid life's stream. 
Though it speaks of love and of thee ; 

The star of each hope hath gone down. 

And fate on the ruin doth frown. 



LINES TO 



(Written by request for a female friend.) 

'Twere vain to tell thee now 
What this fond heart has felt — 

'Twere vain to tell thee how. 
In prayer I for thee knelt. 

Oh, could the tongue unfold 
Each struggle of the heart. 

Then, then couldst thou be told 
How bitter 's been my part. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 207 

Oh, could I past hours trace 

In letters unto thee, 
Ev'nthou wouldst moan my case. 

Would feel a pang for m,e. 

Yes ! false as thou hast been. 

And treacherous to me. 
My bitter fate would glean 

Some sympathy from thee ; 

A tear would dim thine eye. 

And pity Avring the heart. 
Didst thou but know that I, 

Still love thee as thou art. 

No ! false as thou hast been. 

And heartless unto me. 
Still, still I cannot wean 

All my first love from thee. 

Though wretchedness and woe 

Is now my only dower, 
I cannot hate thee, no! 

Even in this wretched hour. 

The hour must e'er be dear 

When thou didst vow to me. 
That I alone should share 

The only love of thee. 



208 HOPKINS' WORKS. 

Though broken is each vow 
Of love, thou madest me. 

And sorrowful the brow 
That once was bright for thee ; 

Though shame, and grief and pain, 
Thy treachery brought on me. 

Still, still, I strive in vain 
To hate and to forget thee. 

Though thou hast been to me. 

The first and only foe. 
And sealed my destiny. 

In wretchedness and woe. 

Yet I cannot hate thee 

As others would have done. 

If from them like me. 

Their first love had been won. 

But go, deceiver go ! 

Thy day of grief will come, — 
Nor torture, pain and woe. 

Desert thee in the tomb. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 209 

ELEGY. 
1. 

Ill-fated son of genius and of woe ! 

To thee the muse her plaintive strain would raise — 
To thee in song a tribute would bestow, 

Applaud thy genius and thy virtues praise. 

2. 
In moanful accents she is bid to sing, 

Since fortune bowed thee even unto death ; 
From pity's self alone her song must spring — 

With melancholy mingle every breath. 

3. 
Thy fate, thy suffering did the muse awake, 

To pour her song in thy most hapless cause ; 
Thy worth, thy genius did her slumber break,* 

To give thy worth and genius just applause. 

4. 
In thee did mystic genius hold her seat. 

That lit the path to honour and to fame. 
From whence the sun of glory rose, to greet 

Ambition with a just and deathless name. 

5. 

But soon the sun of glory was hurled down 
From where thy genius bid him early rise ; 

Soon did grim fortune on thee threatning frown. 
And snatched in youth ambition's noble prize. 
* The author has written no eledes for several years. 

19 



210 HOPKINS' WORKS. 

6. 

Ay! from ambition's radiant height, sublime. 

Gemmed with a quenchless genius, rare and bright. 

The sun of fame and glory in thy prime 
Was struck, and left all wrapt in deathless night. 

7. 

Few sons of earth ever, perchance, beheld 
The path to fame and honour brighter shine ; 

But soon, alas! by rigid fate impelled 

O'er withered hopes, and feelings crushed, to pine. 



Few hearts to reap the worth of genius, swelled 
With warmer zeal and nobler pride, than thine ; 

But, alas ! the thrilling voice of glory 's quelled — 
The sun of fame no more for thee shall shine. 

9. 

But late, and on thee beamed the eye of love ; 

The joyous heart, strung with affection fond. 
Did in harmonious concert with thine move. 

Binding in holier strength affection's bond. 

10. 

For thee did many a kindred bosom swell 

With affection's deep and generous impulse too ; 

For thee did honest friendship ever tell 

Her warm response, attachment long and true. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 211 

11. 

Love ! whose every smile ;, late^ had life endeared — 
Whose light 'till late, had hallowed every hour ; 

Her radiant form through memory but appeared — 
Alas ! remembrance was her only dower. 

12. ' 

Though fate upon thy name had set her seal. 
And fortune blackened all thy latter days. 

Still, still, shall truth thy virtues oft reveal. 
And justice swell aloud the song of praise. 

13. 

For thee shall love with fond devotion, keep 
In memory's holy shrine, thy virtues, all ; 

For thee shall love in sad remembrance weep. 
And pity long deplore thy hapless fall. 

14. 

For thee shall friendship's voice all praiseful rise. 
And o'er thy urn an honest tear shall shed — 

Through sad remembrance, long thy worth shall prize. 
And waft the sigh in pity o'er thy bed. 

15. 

For thee in justice shall each kindred grieve. 
Thy genius and thy virtues, oft recall ; 

For thee shall oft the sigh in pity heave. 
And long in sadness moan thy early fall. 



212 HOPKINS' WORKS. 

16. 

No pompous marble marks thy place of rest. 
Nor to the stranger points thy hapless lot, — 

Yet, long by memory shall it be caressed, — 
Yet shall thy Genius* guard the sacred spot. 

17 
For ihee, the stranger-bard his lyre strung. 

To pay his tribute in the song of praise. 
For thee the generous muse in justice sung. 

And to thy memory, thus her statue raise. 



FAREWELL. 

Farewell thou loved and injured one. 
We ne'er in life shall meet again ; 

I go — but not to shield and shun 
The heart from torture and from pain. 

'Tis decreed our union sever — 

But not without a pang or sigh. 
For oh ! to part with thee forever. 

Must wring the soul with agony. 

Forgive the wrong, if wrong it be — 
Which was done through love's excess ; 

Though the stain of it is on thee. 
Yet I cannot love thee less. 

*It was believed by some of the ancients, that the genius of the 
dead guarded their tomb ; it is also a superstition of some of the 
North American Indians, &tc. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 213 

Throbs the heart with love as true 

As when beauty first inflamed it ; 
Beams thine eye as bright — as blue. 

As before a tear defamed it. 

Thy beauty and thy love shall be 

The vision of remembrance dear; 
My heart shall shrine the love of thee. 

And throb with it for thee sincere. 

Though time with his deforming hand 

May deep defeature form and face. 
Yet shalt thou before me stand 

With beauty, love, and winning grace. 



STANZAS. 

1. 

The home of the bard is the ocean — 

He soon on its bosom will be. 
But painful I feel the emotion. 

In parting with love and with thee ; 
And when I am on the dark wave. 

Thy spirit shall still be with me, — 
With my soul an audience shall crave, 

And speak to my own oft of thee. 



214 HOPKINS' WORKS. 

2. 

When on the dark wave of the deep. 

The star of my Jwpe thou shalt be, 
A guardianship o'er me shall keep. 

And light me again back to thee ; 
Its light in my spirit shall shine. 

And soothe it in sadness and woe. 
Shall blend with my love and with thine. 

And round it a halo shall throw. 



To H. A. H- 



To thee with fondest hope I turn. 
To meet the smile of love sincere ; 

In thee I deem to find the urn. 

That shall enshrine my feehngs dear. 

With all my faults and vices, thou 
Hast worn a smile of love for me. 

Nor frowned upon my gloomy brow. 
But strove from gloom to set it free. 

No sweeter boon life grants my heart. 
Than to respond in love to thine. 

Nor memory from her cell impart 
A joy that clings so .fond to mine. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 215 

And thus to me, long may'st thou be. 

And time but consecrate the tie 
Of love I interchange with thee. 

To be the bright star in life's sky. 

And It in after day shall be 

The incense to remembrance dear. 
And whatsoever my destiny. 

Thou still shalt share my love sincere. 

When o'er me close the silent grave. 
Nor more shall own the love of thee. 

The boon — the wish — of thee I crave. 
That thou wilt still remember me. 



